LIBRARY 

OK  THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Deceived 
^Accessions  No. 


JAN  1895       .  i8g 


f^^Li^^m^7tR|^ 


u  i  /  .1 


APACHE-LAND. 


BY 


CHARLES  D.  POSTON, 


OF  ARIZONA. 


SAN    FRANCISCO: 
A.  L.  BANCROFT  &  COMPANY,  PRINTERS. 

1878. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year ' x878, 

BY  CHARLES  D.  POSTON, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


* 


INTRODUCTION 


THERE  is  not  a  fictitious  name  nor  a  fictitious  character 
in  this  production.  Every  incident  is  founded  on  fact, 
which  leaves  the  author  but'  little  opportunity  for  elabora 
tion,  even  if  he  had  the  capacity. 

It  was  written  in  a  mud  hut,  on  a  dirt  floor;  without  the 
advantage  of  a  single  book  of  reference,  with  no  more 
knowledge  of  metrical  composition  than  a  donkey  has  of 
a  yard-stick;  and  goes  into  the  world  a  simple  child  of 
the  desert,  like  the  author. 

My  first  personal  acquaintance  with  Apache-Land  was  in 
the  year  1854,  when  I  made  a  journey  along  the  eastern 
coast  of  the  Gulf  of  California,  reaching  the  Gila  river 
near  the  Pima  villages,  and  thence  by  Fort  Yuma  to  San 
Francisco.  Ten  years  later,  in  the  year  1864,  when  acting 
as  Superintendent  of  Indian  Affairs;  for  Arizona,  an 
extended  tour  was  made  in  the.  southern  portion  of  the 
Territory,  accompanied  by  my  lamented  friend,  the  Hon 
orable  J.  Ross  Browne,  who  was  obliged  to  leave  me  at 
the  Pima  villages;  and  I  was  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of 
his  society  in  the  country  north  of  :  the  Gilaz  and  the  public 
of  his  inimitable  sketches  and  graphic  descriptions. 

After  Mr.  Browne's  departure  I  made  an  expedition  to 
the  headwaters  of  the  Rio  Verde,  accompanied  by  fifty 


4  Introduction. 

Pima  and  Maricopa  Indians,  two  Opata  boys  that  I 
had  reared,  and  my  Negro  cook,  Jim  Berry  (of  blessed 
memory).  The  Indians  were  armed  with  muskets 
and  forty  rounds  each,  which  they  shot  away  at 
coyotes,  burro  rabbits,  crows,  and  an  occasional  fleeting 
deer.  It  has  ever  since  been  a  doubt  in  my  mind  whether 
the  friendly  Indians  would  not  have  run  away  if  the 
Apaches  had  come  down  upon  us;  in  which  event  I 
should  have  been  left  in  a  very  ridiculous  position,  to  say 
the  least  of  it.  In  descending  the  Rio  Verde,  we  passed 
many  cave  houses  in  the  rocks  on  the  side  of  mountains, 
apparently  selected  for  their  inaccessibility,  and  a  little 
above  the  confluence  of  the  Verde  with  the  Rio  Salado, 
the  ruins  of  three  cities;  the  central  one  of  which  retained 
the  foundations  of  a  very  curiously  constructed  fortifica 
tion. 

The  entrance  of  the  Salado  at  this  junction,  from  this 
visit  and  other  circumstances,  has  remained  impressed 
upon  my  memory  as  a  wild,  weird  scene,  and  I  have  often 
desired  to  explore  its  mysterious  canons.  The  country 
north  of  the  Gila,  between  the  Verde  and  the  Rio  Grande, 
is  yet  comparatively  a  terra  incognita,  the  home  of  the 
Apache,  and  the  hope  of  the  miner. 

The  route  over  which  I  passed  had  been  traversed  by 
the  Spanish  expedition  of  Coronado  three  hundred  and 
twenty-two  years  before,  and  a  graphic  description  of  the 
country  had  been  given  by  Castefiada,  the  historian  of  the 
expedition;  somewhat  more  to  be  relied  upon  than  the 
fantastic  and  rather  romantic  account  of  Father  Mark  of 
Nice,  the  chaplain;  so  that  although  the  ground  was  novel 
to  me,  it  was  nothing  new,  and  is  well  known  to  many 
hunters,  trappers,  and  prospectors,  who  have  unfortunately 
left  no  history  of  their  wanderings  or  of  themselves. 

After  an  absence  of  ten  years  in  foreign  countries,  the 


Introduction.  5 

government  of  the  United  States  (through  the  influence  of 
a  personal  friend)  has  honored  me  with  the  appointment 
of  register  of  the  land  office  at  Florence,  at  a  salary  of 
five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  as  a  recompense  for  my 
arduous  pioneering,  and  the  loss  of  an  ample  estate  by 
confiscation  and  robbery.  As  there  is  little  or  no  business 
in  the  land  office,  I  could  not  conscientiously  continue  to 
draw  the  salary  punctually  every  quarter,  in  installments  of 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  each,  without  making 
some  effort  to  show  my  appreciation  of  the  beneficent  in 
tentions  of  the  government. 

As  the  land  office  at  Florence  is  only  allowed  one  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year  for  rent,  contingent  expenses,  station 
ery,  fuel,  lights,  etc.,  a  very  small  margin  remains  for  ob 
taining  accurate  information  about  a  territory  containing 
over  a  hundred  thousand  square  miles  of  land.  I  there 
fore  proposed  to  the  Major-General  commanding  this 
Department,  to  make  a  reconnoissance  of  the  Salado, 
from  the  junction  of  the  Verde  to  Camp  Apache.  The 
general  courteously  replied  that  "the  proposed  investi 
gations,  in  their  bearing  upon  public  interests,  are  be 
lieved  to  be  capable  of  beneficiary  results,"  and  ordered 
the  organization  of  the  expedition  as  requested,  with 
ample  escort  and  the  engineering  facilities  necessary  to 
determine  the  value  of  one  of  the  principal  streams  of 
the  territory.  This  reconnoissance  will  attract  considerable 
attention  at  St.  Louis,  and  may  accelerate  our  connection 
with  the  heart  of  the  United  States,  where  we  should  look 
for  capital  for  our  mining  enterprises,  as  well  as  for  our 
commercial  supplies. 

Having  been  reared  near  the  banks  of  Salt  river,  in 
Kentucky,  and  having  ascended  the  classic  stream,  polit 
ically,  in  Arizona,  life  would  be  incomplete  without  making 
an  effort  to  explore  the  stream  which  has  gained  so  wide  a 


6  Introduction. 

reputation,  both  among  frontiersmen  and  politicians,  and 
if  the  expedition  results  in  a  benefit  to  the  former,  it  will 
be  a  gratification  to  have  done  something  for  a  class  of 
men  who  are  worthy  of  the  highest  admiration  as  the  pio 
neers  of  civilization;  and  as  for  the  latter,  they  will  take 
care  of  themselves,  as  they  make  politics  an  ".industrial 
pursuit." 

CHARLES  D.  POSTON. 

FLORENCE,  ARIZONA,  1877. 


APACHE-LAND. 


APOCHRYPHAL. 

On  the  Sunday  before  starting,  as  the  expedition  was  resting  in  camp,  on  the 
left  or  southern  bank  of  the  Salado,  a  carriage  arrived  by  the  Florence  road, 
containing  two  women ;  one  in  the  habit  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Sacred  Heart  at 
Mt.  St.  Josephs,  near  Tucson;  the  other  a  Pima  Indian,  Heh-Wul-Vopuey  (the 
Running  Wind) . 

The  Sister  (Seraphine)  bore  traces  of  more  than  ordinary  beauty,  of  that 
peculiar  combination  of  black  hair  and  blue  eyes  called  in  Spanish  "Morisco." 
She  desired  to  see  the  commanding  general,  and  was  conducted  to  his  quarters, 
where  the  following  conversation  (principally  carried  on  by  the  lady)  was  writ 
ten  down  by  the  stenographer  of  the  expedition: 

Your  enterprise  we  much  approve. 

To  join  it  we  would  dearly  love, 

If  laws  and  customs  can  afford 

Two  useful  women  space  on  board. 

It  may  seem  like  a  mystery, 

But  wait  and  hear  my  history  : 

I  beg  you  kindly  grant  me  grace 

In  simple  measure  here  to  trace 

The  strangest  life  beneath  the  sun, 

Which  brings  me  here  a  wandering  nun. 


Apache- Land. 

I  may  not  claim,  without  a  boast, 

Possession  of  beauty  I  have  lost. 

But  blood  's  the  genealogical  tree 

Of  nature's  true  nobility; 

And  that  which  courses  through  my  veins, 

Came  down  through  not  ignoble  reins. 

My  Spanish  father — Hidalgo  stock — 

My  mother  stole  from  Tangiers  rock. 

Hidalgo  grafted  on  the  Moor, 

You  must  admit  cannot  be  poor. 

Born  in  Spanish  palaces 
Guarded  by  Spanish  jalousies, 
Watched  by  my  father's  sable  spoil, 
Charged  with  this  care  instead  of  toil, 
My  childhood  passed  apace. 
In  care  of  kindly  Afric  race, 
Untainted  by  the  world's  engafia, 
I  grew  in  health  in  fair  Espafia, 
Content,  as  far  as  life  unfurled, 
To  live  in  such  a  pretty  world. 

But  ne'er  since  Jason  sought  the  Golden  Fleece, 

Has  sailor  ever  found  domestic  peace; 

Since  Ulysses  lingered  on  the  love-bound  shore, 

Have  sailors  loved  the  sea  far  more  and  more. 

Since  bold  Columbus  crossed  the  Spanish  main, 

Loved  wife  and  child  have  ever  plead  in  vain; 

And  sailors'  vows,  like  sands  upon  sea-shore, 

A  moment  last  and  flit  forever  more. 

The  tide  obliterates  lines  drawn  on  sand, 

As  time  wears  out  vows  made  upon  the  land. 


Apache-Land. 

The  orange  blossoms  of  my  Spanish  home 
Were  changed  for  ocean's  less  enticing  foam. 
My  Moorish  mother  and  our  little  store 
Were  next  in  sight  off  Afric's  sandy  shore, 
Where  Congo  freights,  and  esculent  of  palm, 
Shield  traders'  traffic  in  the  sons  of  Ham; 
Where  oil  and  ivory  offer  fair  pretense 
That  human  traffic  is  but  innocence; 
Where  shady  palms  on  Afric's  muddy  waters 
Shield  horrid  sales  of  Afric's  sons  and  daughters. 

The  sable  cargo  stowed  beneath  the  hatches, 

And  nice  precaution  taken  with  the  watches, 

In  case  a  British  cruiser  might  be  spying 

Into  the  condition  of  the  dead  and  dying. 

Our  sails  were  spread  to  catch  a  friendly  breeze; 

To  .waft  to  deeper  water — wider  seas. 

The  sun  uprose  next  morning  red  as  blood, 

With  angry  beams  pursued  us  o'er  the  flood, 

Pouring  his  fiery  darts  upon  the  bark 

Till  his  fierce  rays  were  shielded  by  the  dark. 

The  angry  winds  lashed  ocean's  seething  foam, 
That  her  fair  bosom  should  be  made  the  home 
Of  such  vile  freight,  while,  poor  and  harmless,  I 
Could  nothing  do  except  lament  and  cry. 
Oil,  ivory,  ebony  were  near  eternity, 
When  love  and  instinct  of  maternity, 
With  inspiration  of  some  mother  wit, 
Perchance  remembrance  of  some  holy  writ, 
Bids  us  pour  oil  upon  the  troubled  waves, 
And  thus  a  husband,  child  and  cargo  saves. 


i  o  Apache- Land. 

A  month  or  more,  and  lovely  palms 
In  Cuban  harbor  spread  their  arms 
To  welcome  toilers  of  the  sea, 
For  sea- worn  toilers  sure  were  we; 
And  by  the  nurslings  of  the  sun 
Ensconced,  we  fired  our  signal  gun, 
When  swarthy  planters  came  on  board, 
Disbursing  free  their  golden  hoard, 
For  men  and  women  whose  only  crime, 
Was  birthrig'ht  in  a  hotter  clime. 

The  gold  doubloons  were  brought  on  board, 

A  sightly  and  a  goodly  hoard. 

My  father  took  me  in  his  arms, 

And  pointing  out  my  mother's  charms, 

Embraced  us  both,  and  said  that  he 

Was  Spanish  Hercules;  and  she 

Was  Afric's  Queen,  and  that  the  twain 

Had  twined  two  worlds  in  love  again, 

And  I  the  knot  that  firmly  bound, 

The  pillars  from  base  to  top  all  round.* 

Away  again  from  Cuban  coasts, 
And  Spanish  laws,  and  Spanish  boasts, 
Our  prow  towards  the  Spanish  main, 
Our  fleet-winged  courser's  free  again, 
And  Orinoco's  mouth  is  past, 
As  down  the  main  she's  flying  fast, 
Till  fair  Brazil  is  on  the  bow, 
And  Rio's  harbor  entered  now; 
Fair  city  of  the  Western  Sea, 
Braganza's  Duke  is  proud  of  thee. 


*See  the  pillars  of  Hercules  on  Spanish  and  Mexican  coins. 


Apache-Land.  1 1 

Away  again,  our  bark  struts  proud 
As  peacock  showing  to  a  crowd; 
Her  sails  are  spread  in  wanton  glee, 
For  every  soul  on  board  is  free. 
Adown  the  main,  like  flying  swan, 
She  rocks,  and  rolls,  and  gambols  on, 
Bowing  to  every  line  of  coast, 
And  tossing  foam  upon  the  lost, 
Till  Flores  Island  comes  in  view, 
Then  anchors  in  Pernambuco. 

Refreshed  again  with  ample  stores, 

We  leave  the  last  Atlantic  shores  ; 

Our  course  is  bent  for  Falkland's  Isles, 

To  gather  one  of  fortune's  smiles, 

Around  the  Cape  of  Storms  to  steer, 

With  sextant  and  chronometer. 

The  stormy  cape  at  last  is  past, 

Of  ice  and  snow  we've  seen  the  last ; 

And  now  upon  Pacific  waves, 

Her  bow  and  stern  our  good  bark  laves. 


For  Juan's  Island,  dear  to  me 
From  early  childish  history, 
Our  prow  is  set ;  our  sails  flow  on 
Towards  the  golden  setting  sun, 
Impatient,  all  in  youthful  glee, 
To  wander  on  the  sands,  and  see 
If  Friday's  track  remains  in  sand, 
Or  Crusoe  still  lives  on  the  land  ; 
But  Friday's  track  is  washed  away, 
And  Crusoe's  dead  this  many  a  day. 


1 2  Apache-Land. 

Tahiti's  Islands  next  are  seen, 

Rising  like  mountains  capped   with  green, 

And  streams  are  purling  through  the  flowers, 

Like  music  warbling  in  nature's  bowers  ; 

But  Christian  and  his  band  are  gone, 

And  there  remains  no  living  one 

To  tell  us  how  or  when  they  went, 

Or  how  their  span  of  life  was  spent ; 

So  these  illusions  fleet  like  youth, 

And  leave  us  only  naked  truth. 

The  Sandwich  Islands  next  were  reached, 

Where  Captain  Cook's  good  ships  were  beached 

And  natives  feasted  wild  and  high — 

Pacific  anthropophagi. 

From  scenes  like  these  we  turn  away, 

And  steer  our  bark  for  far  Cathay, 

Where  civilization  makes  her  boast 

That  she  was  found;  but  never  lost; 

For  Japan's  seas,  whose  beauty  chains 

The  wildest  ranger  of  the  mains. 

"  Away,  away  o'er  bounding  main." 
But  this  is  sung,  and  sung  again, 
By  men  the  latchet  of  whose  shoe 
I  am  not  worthy  to  undo. 
Therefore  I'll  spare  you  all  the  pains 
Of  following  me  o'er  the  mains — 
Then  Fusi-Yami's  towering  height 
Is  the  first  of  Asiatic   sight 
That  greets  the  toiler  of  the  sea, 
Or  junketeers  from   the  Yang'tze. 


Apache-Land.  13 

The  inland  sea  of  fair  Japan 

Is  fairest  scene  bestowed  on  man, 

And  here  forever  one  might  linger; 

But  for  the  warning  old  Time's  finger, 

Pointing  the  courses  of  the  sun 

That  circle  ere  his  race  is  run: 

But  for  the  idol's  placid  face 

That  speaks  unto  the  human  race: 

Prepare  ye  for  eternity, 

Time  is  a  fiction — I  AM  HE! 

The  palm,  the  palm,  the  joyful  palm, 
God's  type  of  all  that's  pure  and  calm. 
It  stretches  forth  its  shady  leaves, 
And  welcome  to  the  traveler  gives. 
The  nursling  of  the  broiling  sun, 
It  trembles  when  his  course  is  run, 
And  under  shadow  of  the  night 
Hears  tales  of  love,  and  war,  and  fight ; 
Ever  compassionate  to  man, 
It  shelters  him  and  makes  his  fan. 

On  Congo's  coast  the  same  flag  floats, 

It  covers  many  suspicious  boats  ; 

And  here  on  fringfe  of  flowery  land, 

Just  where  the  sea  parts  from  the  sand, 

Where  palm-trees  shelter  lovely  vale, 

Floats  the  great  flag  of  Portugale  ; 

From  heights  where  great  Camoens  sung, 

The  banner  of  his  country  hung  ; 

In'  harbor  of  beautiful  Macoa, 

Our  bark  and  crew  seek  shelter  now. 


1 4  Apache-Land. 

Here,  Cross  and  Dragon  face  to  face 
With  enemies  of  race  to  race, 
Three  hundred  years  have  lived  to  see 
The  trade  in  men,  and  silk,  and  tea, 
And  carnivals  of  human  crime, 
Which  all  the  annals  of  old  time, 
And  records  of  old  revelry, 
Could  scarcely  match  in  devilry; 
And  still  the  flag  of  Christ  floats  high, 
And  flouts  against  the  Chinese  sky. 

Here,  too,  in  this  delicious  clime, 
Man  reckons  little  of  the  time; 
The  gifts  of  nature  freely  given 
Make  him  forget  all  thoughts  of  heaven  ; 
The  orange  groves  that  fringe  the  land 
Drop  fruits  as  golden  as  the  sand, 
And  flowers  as  fragrant  as  can  be, 
Float  perfume  o'er  the  Chinese  sea, 
An  atmosphere  so  pure  and  bright 
That  day  is  always  turned  to  night. 

The  sampans  dancing  on  the  waters 
Are  filled  with  China's  olive  daughters, 
With  music  of  the  string  aiffl  gong, 
That  rival  fabled  mermaid's  song. 
They  sing  with  'witching  minstrelsy : 
"  Fair,  blue-eyed  stranger,  come  with  me ; 
I'll  show  you  China's  inland  sea, 
And  almond-eyed  girls  as  fair  as  she, 
Where  Canton  rivals  fair  Venice 
And  nothing  can  be  done  amiss." 


Apache-Land.  1 5 

With  music  from  ten  thousand  boats 
From  which  the  flag  of  China  floats, 
The  Dragon  pointing  to  the  skies 
Has  diamond  tail  and  mirrored  eyes, 
Has  fins  to  swim  upon  the  sea, 
And  legs  upon  the  land  has  he, 
And  wings  to  fly  up  in  the  air. 
The  Lion,  crouching  in  his  lair, 
Was  not  so  great  as  China's  king, 
For  he  was  lord  of  every  thing. 

The  boats  were  thick  as  fish  at  sea, 
And  great  the  wonder  was  to  me, 
How  they  could  one  another  pass; 
But  each  had  eyes  of  looking  glass, 
For  Chinese  oarsmen  fully  know, 
"  Me  no  can  see,  me  how  can  go  ?" 
When  in  a  tempest  wild  they  toss, 
They  seek  to  soothe  the  wrath  of  "Joss," 
And  save  themselves  from  dangers  free, 
By  burning  incense  on  the  sea. 

The  lanterns  hang  upon  the  mast, 
The  sails  are  set,  Whampoa  's  past, 
And  close  upon  the  weather  lee 
A  city  rises  from  the  sea, 
Surpassing  all  our  western  towns 
In  wealth  and  ornamental  grounds. 
The  pearly  river  comes  to  meet 
And  deck  the  mistress  at  its  feet, 
Washing  the  banks  of  fair  Shameen, 
Pearl  island  set  in  emerald  green. 


1 6  Apache-Land. 

Our  sampan  cast  her  lines  ashore 

Before  the  always  open  door — 

Embowered  with  China's  generous  plants 

The  noble^  Hong  of  Olyphants; 

For  here  the  strangers  always  meet 

Hosts  who  with  smiles  and  welcome  greet, 

On  fringe  of  this  great  pagan  land; 

A  gentle,  kind  and  Christian  band, 

Who  hospitality  bestow 

And  China's  famous  city  show. 

The  dishes  of  a  Chinese   feast 
In  cuisine  arts  outmatch  the  East. 
The  watermelon's  ripened  seed 
In  general  commence  the  feed; 
Then  bird's-nest  soup  in  rare  tureen 
Of  richest  inlaid  porcelain; 
Sharks'  fins  then  next  apply  the  test 
To  stomach  of  the  stranger  guest; 
A  dish  of  Chinese  roasted   snails 
Requires  a  glass  of  stout,  or  ales. 

The  ducks  are  passed  by  those  who  live 
In  China — the  cause  I  cannot  give; 
But  woodcock,  fat  on  Chinese  eyes, 
Is  here  an  epicurean  prize. 
Eggs  must  be  stale  to  grace  the  feast, 
And  have  a  hundred  years  at  least; 
For  all  are  taught  by  Chinese  sage, 
Respect  and  duty  to  old  age. 
The  vinous  liquids,  always  due, 
Are  rendered  in  old  ripe  sam-shu. 


Apache- Land.  1 7 

The  glasses — crystals  of  the  best — 

Are  fashioned  all  without  a  rest; 

So  guests  must  at  a  single  quaff 

Drain  the  bottomless  goblet  off. 

The  tables  groan  with  all  that's  nice. 

And  the  feast  is  closed  with  curry  and  rice. 

The  host  then  rises  from  the  table, 

And  if  to  stand  on  legs  he's  able, 

Proposes  a  toast  to  "absent  friends," 

Their  absence  here  to  make  amends. 

The  guests  then  seek  the  drawing-room, 
The  fragrant  weed  in  peace  to  fume, 
Till  waiters,  clad  in  snowy  white, 
End  entertainment  of  the  night 
By  serving  round  small  cups  of  tea, 
Distilled  from  very  best  bohea — 
A  beverage  not  in  the  number 
Of  those  inclining  you  to  slumber; 
And  if  you'll  listen  while  I  try, 
I'll  try  to  tell  the  reason  why. 

A  Buddhist  monk  oppressed  with  sin, 
Called  conclave  of  the  fathers  in, 
To  make  confession  of  his  lapse 
From  virtue — and  other  things,  perhaps. 
Before  his  holy  vision  strayed 
A  wanton,  frail,  fair  Chinese  maid, 
And  pinioned  in  his  heart  so  deep, 
A  lust  that  banished  balmy  sleep, 
And  raised  emotions  far  from  free 
Of  breaking  his  celibacy. 


1 8  Apache-Land. 

The  holy  fathers  pondered  well 
His  wonderful  escape  from  hell, 
And  made  a  penance,  to  be  done 
From  setting  to  the  rise  of  sun, 
That  punishment  should  be  inflicted 
Upon  each  member  so  addicted 
To  wander  from  the  sphere  of  duty, 
And  rest  in  lust  on  female  beauty; 
That  through  the  watches  of  the  night, 
His  eyes  should  never  close  their  sight. 

The  monk  upon  his  penance  went; 
But  ere  the  morning  hours  were  spent — 
Before  the  hours  of  night  were  numbered — 
He  sat  upon  his  chair  and  slumbered. 
Awaking  in  astonishment, 
He  gave  his  eyes  their  punishment, 
And  from  his  lids  their  lashes  drew; 
And  on  the  ground  the  felons  threw, 
And  stamped  them  in  the  earth  with  feet 
In  punishment  for  their  deceit. 

The  hairs  consigned  to  mother  Earth 
There  fructified,  and  soon  gave  birth 
To  stem,  soon  growing  to  a  tree, 
From  which  the  Chinese  gather  tea. 
Thus  penances  are  doing  good, 
And  sermons  still  are  found  in  wood. 
To  those  who  right  the  riddle  read 
And  would  from  sleepiness  be  freed, 
Drink  strong  infusions  of  the  plant — 
Your  eyes  will  never  slumber  want. 


Apache-Land.  1 9 

The  boats  are  waiting  at  the  door, 

The  rowers  resting  on  the  oar; 

The  lamps  are  hung  from  stem  to  stern, 

The  tea  is  drawing  in  the  urn; 

And  drapery  hung  with  strange  device, 

The  youth  and  beauty  to  entice; 

For  here  in  China's  inland  sea 

The  nights  are  given  to  revelry. 

We  step  aboard;    the  sampan  flies, 

And  beauty  melts  from  almond  eyes. 

With  music  from  the  sampans  flowing 
To  cadence  of  the  oarsmen  rowing, 
We  float  across  the  pearly  waters 
In  arms  of  China's  lovely  daughters; 
The  lights  that  glimmer  on  the  sea 
Are  like  the  stars  of -far  Chaldee, 
And  numerous,  as  if  they  meant 
To  imitate  the  firmament. 
The  world's  asleep;    but  we  yet  live 
To  suck  honey  from  this  human  hive. 

Our  prow  is. set  for  fair  Shameen 
Enshrouded  in  its  dress  of  green, 
Where  lanterns,  hung  on  every  tree, 
Their  lights  reflected  in  the  sea, 
Are  rivaled  only  by  the  eyes 
Of  damsels  thick  as  fire-flies, 
Who  welcome  us  with  mimic  fire 
Of  paper  cannon  strung  on  wire, 
Draw  up  their  little  dainty  feet, 
And  hand  a  cushion  for  a  seat. 


2O  Apache- Land. 

By  China's  laws  and  customs  old, 
The  feet  of  women  are  controlled. 
From  infancy  to  age  compressed 
In  bandage  linen,  nicely  dressed, 
They  grow  no  longer  than  a  span. 
This  was  the  law  of  China's  Khan, 
To  settle  questions  of  dispute 
Which  modern  women  gravely  moot, 
In  violation  of  the  text 
Which  sets  the  status  of  the  sex. 

They  cannot  dance  on  feet  of  mice, 
And  pity  'tis  they  are  so  nice, 
That  boys  must  play  the  female  part, 
In  feats  of  light,  fantastic  art. 
Such  are  China's  laws  and  rules, 
Taught  by  wise  Confucian  schools. 
But  nature  has  its  recompense: 
If  pressure  at  the  foot  commence, 
The  blood  repressed  rises  high, 
And  expands  itself  about  the  thigh. 

We  turn  us  now  to  fair  Shameen, 

All  glimmering  in  her  garb  of  sheen, 

Whose  gardens,  lakes  and  bowers  airy, 

Invite  the  gay  voluptuary; 

The  divans  rare,  of  silk  brocade, 

With  China,  Tartar,  Japan  maid, 

Invite  to  bacchanalian  feast, 

Peculiar  customs  of  the  East. 

For  fear  of  offending  Western  law, 

We  here  the  silken  curtain  draw. 


Apache-Land.  2 1 

The  sun  rose  high  o'er  Canton  towers 
Before  we  left  love's  shady  bowers, 
And  Shameen's  beauties  bade  farewell, 
And  Tartar  maids  who  love  so  well; 
Our  mandate  bids  us  to  Macoa, 
Where  barque  and  crew  await  us  now; 
The  doubloons  have  been  changed  for  spice, 
And  some  of  them  for  China  rice; 
Others  for  sugar  and  silk  and  tea, 
And  varied  cargo  of  the  sea: 

Sandalwood  chairs,  bamboo  settees, 
Fashioned  to  give  the  greatest  ease, 
With  furniture  around  the  room, 
That  spread  on  board  a  sweet  perfume; 
Silk  curtains  hung  about  the  doors, 
And  Indian  mats  upon  the  floors; 
The  pantry  garnished  well  again, 
With  richest,  rarest  porcelain; 
In  lieu  of  Congo  ebony, 
A  load  of  live  mahogany. 

We  spread  our  sails  and  sped  along 
In  sight  of  peaks  of  old  Hong  Kong, 
Where  British  cruisers  lie  in  wait 
At  gate  of  China's  greatest  strait, 
Content  that  we  may  go  and  come 
If  they  can  smuggle  opium  ; 
Resisting  China's  wholesome  laws, 
And  making  war  in  holy  cause 
Of  traffic  that  the  devil  speeds 
In  merchandise  of  poppy  seeds. 


22  Apache- Land. 

O  God,  is  there  on  earth  no  haven, 
No  refuge  safe  this  side  of  heaven, 
Where  man's  inhumanity  to  man 
Is  placed  beneath  the  social  ban? 
Are  royal  courts,  and  kings  and  queens, 
In  statesmen's  hands  but  puppet  means 
To  guide  the  people  to  distress, 
To  war,  and  strife,  and  wickedness? 
We'll  turn  our  barque  from  far  Cathay 
And  seek  it  in  America. 

To  south  south-east  we  steered  our  course, 
On  larboard  lee  Luchous  bold  coast, 
And  passed  the  Philippean  Isles, 
Where  nature  spreads  her  fairest  smiles 
To  make  the  land  yield  plenteously, 
To  fatten  Spanish  royalty; 
Where  poppies  and  narcotic  weed 
Rotate  the  land  with  changing  seed, 
Infusing  in  the  mild  manilla 
An  inclination  for  the  pillow. 

From  here  we  pointed  straight  across 
A  little  towards  the  Southern  Cross  ; 
And  the  first  land  that  we  did  see, 
Bounded  the   Vermilion  Sea  ; 
The  'promontory  of  old  Saint  Luke 
Was  sighted  as  if  by  a  fluke.* 
The  Californian  coast  extended 
As  mountains  south  to  south-east  trended, 
Kind  nature's  barrier  stretched  before, 
To  guard  the  fair  Sonora  shore. 


Fluke  is  a  sea-plivnso. 


Apache- Land.  2  3 

A  landmark  here,  which  all  may  see, 

One  foot  on  land,  and  one  on  sea; 

Sea-lion,  petrified  by  chance, 

Or,  monster  fixed  by  Neptune's  lance. 

It  stands  where  mild  Pacific  waves 

Its  legs  and  body  daily  laves, 

And  claims  this  tribute  of  the  sea 

In  memory  of  mastery. 

Bold  headland,  take  this  small  tribute, 

Receive,  en  passant,  our  salute. 

Across  the  sea  we  fast  sailed  on, 
Abreast  the  Isle  of  Tiburon, 
Where  inlet  fashioned  in  the  shore 
Sheltered  our  bark  and  worldly  store. 
The  sharks  abound  in  Cortez'  Sea, 
But  they  shall  never  feast  on  me. 
Thank  God  for  all  the  dangers  past. 
But  this  long  voyage  is  our  last ; 
For  anchored  on  Sonora's  shore, 
We  leave  the  sea  for  evermore. 

The  island  where  our  good  ship  lies, 

Is  isle  of  sharks — as  its  name  implies ; 

Inhabited  by  a  dusky  race 

A  trifle  yellow  in  the  face, 

And  gifted  with  a  nature  savage, 

The  adjacent  coasts  and  towns  to  ravage, 

But  where,  or  whence  they  came,  indeed 

Would  puzzle  students- much  to  read. 

Their  origin  's  a  mystery 

To  chronicles  or  history. 


24  Apache- Land. 

Most  venomous  reptiles  here  abound 
And  make  the  isle  forbidden  ground, 
To  all  except  this  savage  race 
Who  keep  up  here  their  hiding-place. 
They  place  these  reptiles  in  a  pit, 
And  lash  them  till  they  madly  spit 
Their  venom  in  a  tiburon's  liver, 
Which,  placed  in  bottom  of  a  quiver, 
Infuses  in  the  arrow's  point, 
And  sinews  that  confine  the  joint, 
A  poison  rank,  and,  shot  by  stealth, 
The  Ceris'   arrow's  certain  death. 

They're  like  the  Asiatic  race 
In  indications  of  the  face; 
In  speech,  our  Chinese  servants  could 
With  trouble  slight  be  understood. 
This  isle  has  formed  them  safe  refuge, 
Perhaps,  e'er  since  the  great  deluge. 
With  boat  and  spear  they  gather  fish, 
And  cook  them  in  an  earthen  dish 
With  salt,  and  other  things  in  store 
Gathered  from  the  adjacent  shore. 

The  cargo  landed  on  the  strand, 
My  father  bought  a  caravan, 
And  silk  and  tea  and  miners'  tools 
Were  laden  on  the  stout  pack-mules. 
The  ship,  dismantled,  rides  upon 
The  sea;  a  grinning  skeleton ; 
Stripped  to  the  ribs,  it  floats  alone  ; 
'  It  floats  a  ghost  the  sea  upon, 
One  kiss  I  waft  unto  the  sea, 
For  thousands  she  has  given  me. 


Apache-Land.  2  5 

With  foot  firm  placed  upon  the  land, 
I  join  the  moving  caravan, 
To  seek  in  Arizona  mountains 
The  fabled  sources  of  youth's  fountains; 
Ascending  higher  unto  God, 
Where  never  foot  of  man  has  trod; 
A  home  more  stabb  than  the  sea, 
With  those  who  are  the  world  to  me. 
And  there  amongst  the  scenes  primeval, 
I  surely  never  can  see  evil. 

Rivers  run  to  the  sea,  their  sources  the  sky; 
Wide  enough  at  the  mouth,  but  narrow  on  high. 
And  all  those  who  strive  to  make  the  ascent, 
Must  often  remember  the  New  Testament 
In  parables  teaching,  which  difficult  seem; 
One  goes  easier  down  than  up  any  stream. 
But  all  we  can  do  is  to  do  our  devoir, 
For  not  all  the  climbers  can  cry  "Excelsior." 
Our  duty  is  done,  if  we  fall  by  the  way; 
Look  upward  forever;  praise  God  and  pray. 

The  caravan  moved  on  apace, 

And  even  those  of  brutish  race 

Gathered  inspiration  by  the  way, 

And  vented  it  in  cheerful  neigh; 

The  mules  pricked  up  their  ears,  and  kept, 

With  jingling  spurs,  a  steady  step. 

The  cruppers  fastened  close  behind, 

The  hackamore  upon  the  blind; 

The  broad  belt-cinch  and  shoulder-brace 

Kept  aperajo  in  its  place. 


2  6  Apache- Land. 

In  camp  at  night  the  watch-fires  burned; 
The  mules  and  horses  loose  were  turned 
In  low  foothills  and  mountain  pass, 
To  graze  upon  the  grama  grass. 
The  camp-fire  burned  a  ruddy  hue, 
The  sky  above  was  gold  and  blue. 
All  nature  seemed  to  take  delight 
In  the  still  watches  of  the  night. 
Our  Tartar  tent  was  pitched  on  high, 
To  shed  effulgence  of  the  sky. 

The  venison  steaks  were  cut  and  broiled, 
Our  Chinese  servants  sweat  and  toiled 
The  guajolote  rich  to  roast 
And  baste  his  breast  with  buttered  toast; 
To  stuff  him  with  the  rich  castana, 
Which  grows  here  in  this  New  Espafia; 
The  mountain  quail  which  here  we  found, 
Were  roasted  on  a  willow  wand, 
Which  gives  the  bird  an  unctuous  flavor, 
And  very  palatable  savor. 

The  bear's  oil  forms  a  dressing  nice, 
When  flavored  with  some  eastern  spice, 
And  spread  upon  the  turkey's  wing, 
Makes  dish  to  set  before  a  king; 
A  bullock's  head  was  cut  and  dressed, 
The  blood  from  out  its  vessels  pressed; 
A  hole  was  fashioned  in  the  ground 
And   firmly  set  with  stones  around, 
The  heat  and  juice  to  smother  in, 
And  then  the  head  was  put  within. 


Apache- Land.  27 

A  large  flat  stone  was  placed  on  top, 
And  fire  was  kindled  on  the  rock, 
To  roast  the  head  within  the  skin 
And  keep  its  juicy  flavor  in, 
So  that  by  streak  of  early  morn 
It  might  be  lifted  by  the  horn 
And  made  a  matutinal  meal 
With  relish  citizens  never  feel. 
The  sentinels  their  vigils  kept, 
Whilst  we  in  camp  securely  slept. 

The  camp  at  morn  was  early  stirred 
That  we  might  match  the  early  bird, 
For  who  like  sluggards  slept  too  late 
Would  miss  their  morning  chocolate. 
The  packs  were  spread  upon  the  ground 
In  systematic  circle  round; 
The  mules,  with  instinct  of  the  brute, 
Each  found  his  own  day-harness  suit 
And  stood  aside,  upon  his  back 
To  receive  his  daily  'customed  pack. 

The  blind  is  first  placed  o'er  his  eyes 

To  shield  them  from  the  biting  flies; 

A  sudoriento  next  the  skin, 

To  take  the  perspiration  in; 

A  matting  made  of  soft  maguey; 

Then  aparejo  stuffed  with  hay, 

Its  ends  expanding  very  wide, 

To  guard  the  patient  pack-mule's  side; 

The  pack  is  then  securely  cinched 

Until  the  mule  has  groaned  and  winced. 


28  Apache-Land. 

The  load  is  then  placed  on  the  pack, 

Adjusted  fairly  to  the  back, 

And  safely  round  the  belly  tied 

With  ropes  and  thongs  of  stout  rawhide, 

The  muleteer,  or  p'raps  the  dueno, 

Slaps  mule  on  hip,  and  cries  out  "  Bueno." 

The  mule  steps  quickly  to  the  road, 

Soon  as  he  fairly  gets  his  load, 

Which  should  in  reasonable  bounds 

Not  much  exceed  three  hundred  pounds. 

A  gray  mare  leads  the  cavallada, 

Is  mistress  of  the  whole  mulada; 

For  here,  as  in  other  lands,  of  course, 

"The  gray  mare  is  the  better  horse." 

With  jingling  bell  which  music  made, 

She  leads  the  lively  cavalcade; 

Her  bell,  and  hide  so  very  white, 

Form  safeguard  either  day  or  night; 

For  mules,  like  sheep  on  highland  heather, 

Are  always  led  by  a  bell-wether. 

The  riders  strike  with  spur  and  whip 

A  lagging  mule  upon  the  hip; 

And  oft  in  rugged  mountain  road, 

Have  trouble  to  adjust  the  load. 

My  father  rode  an  Arab  steed — 

Or,  at  the  least,  a  full  half  breed — 

Whose  foam  was  white  as  mountain  snow 

On  atlas  peaks  in  Morocco; 

The  saddle,  formed  by  Spanish  art, 

Was  perfect  in  its  every  part. 


Apache- Land.  29 

The  pommel,  projecting  at  the  front, 
Was  garnished  with  a  silver  mount, 
The  stirrup  fashioned  like  a  boat, 
Made  large  and  wide,  to  ease  the  foot, 
And  these  were  shining  bright,  brand  new; 
And  they  were  silver-mounted  too; 
The  bit  was  from  my  mother's  land, 
So  fashioned  that  a  single  strand 
Of  silk  could  guide  the  wildest  steed 
That  ever  came  of  Moorish  breed. 

With  jingling  spurs  that  music  kept, 
And  helped  the  mules  to  keep  the  step, 
My  mother  and  I,  in  silk  sedan, 
Kept  pace  with  the  moving  caravan; 
Four  coolies  trotted  by  our  side, 
To  take  the  chair  when  others  tired, 
Until  the  shadow  of  the  sun 
Reminded  us  'twas  time  to  noon; 
When,  stopping  by  a  mountain  side, 
We  camped  in  valley  green  and  wide. 

Beneath  a  grove  of  cottonwoods, 

We  made  our  camp  and  stacked  our  goods, 

For  where  this  kind  of  timber  grows, 

You  may  be  sure  the  water  flows. 

In  camping,  'tis  considered  meet 

To  have  a  valley  at  your  feet, 

With  abundant  grass  for  stock  to  eat, 

And  a  mountain  back  for  safe  retreat; 

Let  watch  be  placed  upon  a  rise, 

To  guard  the  camp  against  surprise. 


30  Apache-Land. 

In  fashion  thus  we  journeyed  on, 
From  rising  till  the  set  of  sun, 
Till  at  the  end  of  some  two  weeks 
We  came  in  sight  of  mountain  peaks 
Which,  pointing  to  the  sky  with  snow, 
Gave  warning  to  no  further  go; 
And  rinding  here  a  valley  wide, 
Guarded  by  mountains  on  each  side, 
We  pitched  our  tent  beside  a  lake 
Which  rivers  from  the  mountains  make. 

The  Indians  call  it  Arivac; 

About  ten  leagues  from  old  Tubac, 

Where  Spaniards,  hundred  years  ago, 

Established  a  Presidio, 

And  twenty  leagues  from  old  Tucson, 

Where  Jason  took  his  gold  fleece  from; 

For  in  the  annals  of  old  time, 

Which  sadly  puzzle  modern  rhyme, 

It's  spelt  "  Toison,"  which  means  a  piece, 

The  Spanish  knights  of  golden  fleece. 

At  any  rate,  we  settled  here; 

And  scared  away  the  timid  deer, 

And  scared  away  the  civet  cat, 

To  make  this  place  our  Ararat. 

My  father  built  an  altar  stone, 

And  sacrificed  a  goat  thereon, 

In  burning  incense  to  the  sun, 

That  such  a  happy  hom6  we'd  won; 

The  smoke  ascended  straight  to  heaven, 

As  Indian's  strongest  shot  had  riven. 


Apache- Land.  3 1 

Here  home  was  found — a  very  home; 
No  more  on  treacherous  seas  we'll  roam; 
But  here,  on  virgin  soil  of  God, 
We'll  live  by  turning  up  the  sod, 
And  cultivate  the  land  for  bread, 
As  all  who  Holy  Writ  have  read, 
Must  know  the  sons  of  Adam's  doom 
From  erst,  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 
Here  sheltered  from  the  world,  we  three, 
Wife,  husband,  child — EARTH'S  TRINITY. 

With  stone,  and  lime,  and  lofty  pine, 

And  much  material  from  the  mine, 

Foundations  laid  by  square  and  rule, 

And  lofty  cellars  deep  and  cool, 

A  "casa"  rose  above  the  plain — 

Its  like  we'll  never  see  again. 

The  bricks  were  burnt  out  in  the  sun, 

Just  as  of  old  in  Babylon; 

And  straw  was  furnished  to  concrete 

The  mass  in  shape  both  square  and  neat. 

The  lofty  pines  were  cut  and  squared, 
And  in  the  burning  sun  well  aired, 
To  underlie  the  house's  floors; 
Mesquite  was  polished  for  the  doors; 
And  windows,  made  in  convex  form 
To  guard  the  casa  from  the  storm, 
Were  interlaced  with  iron  bars 
For  ventilation — and  for  wars. 
In  front,  a  great  long  colonnade 
The  soft  red  yielding  porphyry  made. 


32  Apache-Land. 

The  quarries  found  on  the  estate 

Yielded  a  hard  and  dark  blue  slate, 

Which  made  a  handsome  Mansard  roof, 

Both  water-tight  and  fire-proof. 

At  angle  facing  eastern  sun, 

We  raised  a  lofty  torreon, 

And  mounted  there  our  cannons  high, 

In  relief  against  the  eastern  sky ; 

From  nomads  north  put  on  our  guard — 

We  must  ever  here  keep  watch  and  ward. 

Oar  house  outside  was  rough  to  view, 
And  finished  with  rude  stucco  ; 
But  inside,  furnished  from  the  floor 
To  attic  with  the  richest  store 
Of  furniture  that  Europe  boasts, 
Or  yield  the  fair  Atlantic  coasts 
With  garniture  of  Asian  skill 
And  quaint  device  of  Hindoo  will; 
Fine  Cashmere  shawls  adorn  the  walls 
And  Japan's  bronzes  fill  the  halls. 

Persian  rugs  are  on  the  floors, 

And  Chinese  silks  enshroud  the  doors — 

The  windows  hung  with  tapestry, 

Of  Gobelin's  famous  factory; 

And  porcelain,  the  finest  make 

Of  China's  famous  Poyong  lake. 

The  Aztec's  clumsy  golden  plate 

Was  set  beside  the  Sevres  state. 

Native  silver  formed  the  staff, 

And  ornamented  the  carafe. 


Apache- Land.  33 

Our  wines  were  wines  of  Portugal, 

And  native  drink  of  old    Mescal, 

With  goodly  store  of  French  champagne 

Which  we  had  brought  o'er  many  a  main, 

And  Burgundy  which  since  the  flood 

Has  enriched  the  sons  of  Noah's  blood  ; 

Chablis,  for  use  upon  the  sea  ; 

Cognac,  to  temper  with  the  tea — 

In  Russian  fashion  it  is  made 

And  commonly  called  a  "  citronade." 

Our  store  of  sherry  is,  of  course, 

Abundant.     For  my  father's  use, 

Absinthe  is  served  when  we  guests  invite, 

To  titillate  the  appetite  ; 

And  after  dinner  Roman  punch 

(The  stout  and  ales  are  served  at  lunch); 

The  coffee,  which  I  most  admire, 

Is  roasted  on  a  mesquite  fire, 

And  stirred  about  with  willow  sticks, 

Half  Mocha,  and  half  Java,  mixed, 

Then  ground  to  color  of  the  opal, 

The  best  mills  come  from  Constantinople. 

About  the  pot  there's  great  dispute, 

But  Veyron's  patent  seems  to  suit; 

Distilling  essence  drop  by  drop, 

And  leaving  grounds  up  in  the  top. 

Sugar  and  cognac  stirred  about; 

If  you  like,  you  burn  the  spirit  out. 

After  this,  in  regulated  homes, 

The  ladies  retire  to  drawing-rooms. 


Apache- Land.  3  5 

The  men  were  placed  to  herd  on  lea, 
The  girls  left  to  my  mother  and  me; 
They  learned  to  cook  and  make  the  tea, 
With  simple  kinds  of  broidery; 
They  appeared  as  simple  as  a  child, 
Daughters  of  Eve  without  a  guile. 
They  poked  their  noses  'gainst  the  glass, 
And  laughed  because  they  would  not  pass; 
Surprise'd,  in  simple,  childlike  glee, 
They  couldn't  touch  what  they  could  see. 

The  Pima  race  inhabits  most 

Of  the  country  north  of  Sonora  coast; 

From  Gila's  northern  boundary 

To  eastern  shore  of  Cortez'  sea. 

Their  houses  once  were  grand  and  high; 

And  yet,  in  Arizona's  sky, 

When  passing  on  the  Tucson  road, 

The  ruins  of  a  king's  abode 

Are  seen  upon  the  eastern  plain; 

Or  perhaps  it  was  a  pagan  fane. 

The  Pima's  name  's  much  controverted, 

And  many  remain  still  unconverted 

To  this  or  that  man's  theory, 

As  we  learn  naught  of  history. 

You  ask  a  Pima  how  to  go, 

Or  something  that  he  does  not  know, 

He's  sure  to  answer  you  "pima'-ch;" 

If  favor's  asked,  he  says  "pia'-ch," 

For  Pimas  are  a  stingy  race, 

And  have  a  kind  of  Jewish  face. 


36  Apache- Land. 

A  part  of  the  great  Pima  tribe 
Have  parted  from  the  mother  hive, 
And  try,  in  some  half-Christian  way, 
Their  duties  to  the  church  to  pay; 
They  may  be  known  by  wearing  clothes, 
And  somewhat  less  of  Hebrew  nose; 
They  worship  at  old  San  Xavier, 
But  their  piety  is  not  severe. 
The  rest,  who  flout  the  church's  livery," 
Live  westward  from  Mount  Babaquivera. 

They  here  tend  flocks  of  cattle  and  sheep 

Until  Sonora  farmers  reap 

Their  rich,  abundant  trigo's  yield, 

When  they're  employed  in  harvest  field; 

In  Winter  they  come  to  Arivac, 

The  woman  always  with  the  pack 

Of  household  goods  in  rawhide  sack, 

With  small  papoose  upon  her  back, 

Convenient  to  the  founts  of  lac, 

Which  modest  covering  always  lack. 

The  men  engage  in  hunting  game. 
The  antelope,  not  very  tame, 
Is  caught  by  many  crafty  tricks, 
Which  only  Indian  skill  can  fix; 
They  take  the  half  a  skin  of  one, 
And  carefully  dry  it  in  the  sun, 
The  hide  all  stiff,  the  horns  erect; 
The  vacant  eyes,  their  eyes  protect, 
When  creeping  slyly  through  the  bush, 
Or  in   the  heat  of  chase  thev  rush. 


Apache- Land.  37 

Then  clothe  themselves  with  shirt  blood-red, 

And  fix  the  skin  about  their  head; 

Then  sally  out  to  catch  the  game, 

Which  roams  with  such  romantic  name. 

The  herd,  astonished  at  such  sight, 

Confounded,  lose  their  senses  quite; 

An  antelope  with  shirt  blood-red, 

And  skin  and  horns  about  his  head, 

Is  vision  to  excite  surprise, 

And  fascinates  their  pensive  eyes. 

They  stand  like  statues  on  the  plain, 
Whilst  wily  hunter  takes  his  aim, 
When  "  bang  "  goes  rifle,  and  a  buck 
Falls  to  the  ground,  in  vitals  struck; 
The  herd,  all  heedless  of  the  gun, 
All  gather  round  the  stricken  one; 
Not  like  some  deer,  and  people  too, 
Who  run  away  when  dangers  brew; 
The  hunter  loads  his  gun  again, 
And  piles  the  plain  up  with  the  slain. 

The  women  do  domestic  work; 
'Their  lords  and  masters  ape  the  Turk, 
And  have  but  slight  felicity 
In  matters  that  domestic  be. 
They  gather  willows  from  the  lake, 
And  pretty  willow  baskets  make, 
Painting  the  outside  clean  and  nice, 
With  varied,  strange,  and  quaint  device; 
Cementing  some  with  gum  mesquite, 
To  keep  the  water  pure  and  sweet. 


38  Apache- Land. 

They  gather  clay  from  out  the  ground, 
And  in  a  mortar  finely  pound, 
Then  mix  with  water  from  the  lake, 
Until  the  mass  will  fashion  take; 
Then  twirling  it  around  their  hands 
In  many  circumfluent  bands, 
They  fashion  it  in  form  desired, 
To  make  utensils  as  required; 
Then  place  it  in  the  sun  to  dry, 
And  paint  it  with  the  charcoal's  dye. 

The  crocks  are  taken  from  the  sun, 
And  great,  long  furnace  placed  upon, 
The  jars  and  pans  and  oven's  lid 
Forming  a  little  pyramid. 
The  fuel  to  heat  this  crucible 
Was  ordure  from  the  horse  corral; 
For  stronger  heat  the  pots  would  crack, 
And  charcoal  likely  burn  them  black. 
Thus  Nature  teaches  for  her  part 
These  simple-minded  people  art. 

The  Mission  Church  of  San  Xavier 

Deserves  a  little  notice  here. 

A  pretty  ground  it  stands  upon, 

Three  Spanish  leagues  from  old  Tucson; 

The  waters  of  the  Santa  Cruz 

Lend  here  the  church  their  willing  use, 

Then  sink  themselves  upon  the  plain, 

And  ne'er  are  used  by  man  again. 

Its  walls  were  built,  as  records  show, 

About  two  hundred  years  ago. 


Apache- Land.  39 

The  Jesuits,  for  the  love  of  Christ, 
Their  lives  and  pleasures  sacrificed, 
And  here,  as  elsewhere,  monument 
Excites  your  greatest  wonderment, 
That  this  wild  wilderness  of  sin 
So  grand  a  structure  should  be  in. 
Its  domes  and  towers  rising  high, 
Its  cross  uplifting  to  the  sky; 
But  here,  indeed,  it  grandly  rose, 
The  Mecca  of  the  Papagos. 

This  name  was  given  them  by  priests 
In  testimony  of  release 
From  Lucifer,  and  all  the  hells 
Where  soul  of  unshrived  Pima  dwells. 
The  fathers  well  knew  how  to  build. 
With  unmatched  architectural  skill 
They  searched  the  country  with  the  aid 
That  travel  and  experience  made, 
And  with  their  scientific  lights 
Selected  the  best  building  sites. 

They  laid  it  off  by  square  and  rule, 
And  sunk  a  crypt  both  deep  and  cool, 
For  r every  and  safe  deposit, 
A  treasury  and  study-closet: 
The  foundations  were  well  laid  with  stone 
Brought  from  the  mountains  one  by  one, 
In  ox-carts  fashioned  stout  and  good, 
With  beds  of  hide  and  wheels  of  wood. 
Cement  was  made  of  water  and  lime, 
A  concrete  mass  defying  time. 


4O  Apache-Land. 

Of  sun-burnt  brick  were  made  the  walls, 

Plastered  with  lime  the  inner  halls; 

The  parapet,  and  towers  thick, 

Were  finished  off  with  kiln-burnt  brick; 

The  dome  surmounted  all — on  high, 

A  very  model  of  the  sky. 

My  mother  loved  the  Moorish  towers, 

In  memory  of  happier  hours, 

And  pronounced  the  tout  ensemble  scenic, 

The  architecture  Saracenic. 

The  walls,  adorned  with  holy  frescos, 

The  altars,  picturesque  reredos, 

Were  work  of  some  Italian  priest, 

Who  studied  art  in  the  far  East; 

The  candelabra  on  the  altar, 

And  urn,  to  hold  the  holy  water, 

Were  made  of  solid  pina  plata; 

Abundant  here  midst  other  matter. 

In  San  Xavier  I  love  to  linger 

And  muse  on  march  of  old  Time's  finger; 

For  here,  with  Christ  in  holy  union, 

It  was  I  took  my  first  communion. 

Full  many  sorrows  since  I've  seen, 

In  many  dangerous  places  been; 

But  vision  of  Christ  upon  the  sea 

Has  comfort  always  brought  to  me; 

For  faith,  and  hope,  and  charity, 

Will  win  the  gate  of  heaven — these  three. 

Then  Christ  will  see  the  little  child, 

And  forgive  all  after  errors  wild. 


Apache- Land.  4 1 

The  work  has  sped  at  Arivac 

With  plow  and  spade,  and  hoe  and  ax; 

The  ground  's  been  turned  and  seed  insown, 

Of  barley,  wheat,  and  Indian  corn; 

With  beans,  and  peas,  and  black  frijol, 

And  seed  of  lovely  marigold; 

The  garden  's  sown  with  native  legumbres, 

And  foreign  plants  in  endless  numbers, 

With  melon  seeds  from  Spain  and  Cuba, 

And  natives  from  the  banks  of  Yuba. 

The  orchard  's  set  with  tropic  fruits, 
With  peach,  and  pear,  and  apple  shoots; 
Sonora  figs,  and  Altar  dates, 
And  trees,  imported  from  the  States; 
With  seed  of  always  rich  banana, 
Brought  from  plantations  at  Havana; 
Citron  and  orange  of  every  clime, 
Not  even  forgot  the  useful   lime; 
For  orange,  I  eat  the  mandarin, 
Because  'tis  easy  stripped  of  skin. 

The  vineyard,  on  south  mountain-side, 
Was  plowed  in  rows  'bout  two  feet  wide; 
Planted  with  vine-slips  from  Sonora, 
Del  Moreno,  "El  Aurora," 
And  from  Los  Angeles  and  Sonoma — 
California  grapes  all  lack  aroma. 
We  had  China  vine-slips  in  the  bark, 
By  sons  of  Shem  saved  from  the  ark. 
'Tis  said  that  wine  inspires  the  muse, 
But  to  rhyme  these  vines — it  is  no  use. 


42  Apache- Land. 

To  fructify  this  planted  crop 

And  make  the  seeds  with  vigor  hop, 

The  great  necessity  is  water, 

Which  is  said,  by  those  who  "  hadn't  oughter,' 

To  be  as  scarce  as  good  society — 

A  slander,  lacking  in  variety. 

To  irrigate  the  fields  and  plains, 

In  country  where  it  never  rains 

And  water  t's  a  scarcity, 

Is  work  of  prime  necessity. 

We  dammed  the  streams  on  mountain-sides, 

And  made  canals  for  water-guides, 

Trained  through  the  fields  to  gently  flow; 

And  when  they  needed  overflow, 

Opened  the  dikes  and  water-gates, 

And  through  the  ground  it  percolates 

In  vivifying  streams,  and  gains 

A  better  crop  than  meager  rains; 

For  ancients  taught  us  long  ago, 

This  was  the  way  to  make  crops  grow. 

Mother  and  I  must  have  our  space, 
And  claimed  a  little  garden-place 
Just  by  the  house,  quite  close  at  hand, 
To  plant  with  shrubs  from  Flowery  Land, 
And  seeds  of  every  kind  of  flowers, 
With  vines  for  aromatic  bowers; 
We  inclosed  it  with  a  cactus  hedge, 
Which  grew  as  thick  as  they  could  wedge, 
Making  a  fence  impervious 
To  animals,  and  to  the  dust. 


Apache- Land.  43 

Inside,  the  cactus  hedge  to  screen, 

A  bois  d'arc  hedge  fringed  it  with  green; 

And  inside  this,  to  further  please, 

A  row  of  Chinese  orange  trees, 

From  which  a  bounteous  nature  showers 

Delicious  fruit  and  fragrant  flowers; 

The  China  asters  next  were  seen,  . 

Dwarf  firs  in  pots  for  evergreen; 

Japonicas  set  out  in  rows, 

The  ever-lovely  English  rose. 

Upon  the  center  of  the  ground 

The  Chinese  gardeners  raised   a  mound 

With  taste  unique  and  cunning  skill, 

The  smaller  flowers  in  plats  to  fill. 

Surmounting  all,  a  noble  fount 

Shed  jets  of  water  from  the  mount. 

In  this  mundane  elysium 

We  found   relief  from  tedium, 

And  innocently  passed  the  hours 

In  needlework,  'midst  fruits   and  flowers. 

The  summer  past,  the  autumn  come 
Which  brings  us  to  our  harvest-home, 
When  reapers   gathered   bounteous  measure 
Of  golden  fruits  of  earthly  treasure, 
The  Papagos,  to  share  the  yield, 
The  gleaners  followed   in  the  field. 
The  granary  was  filled  with  svheat, 
Which  in  the    soil  grows  rich  and   sweet; 
The  corn  was  stacked  up  in  the  field — 
The  store-rooms  would  not  hold  the  yield. 


44  Apache-Land. 

In  gratitude  for  this  abundance 

And  nature's  bounteous  redundance, 

My  father,  after'  his  siesta, 

Made  plans  with  us  for  a  fiesta, 

Which  we  should  give  his  farm  colleagues 

Who  lived  within  a  hundred  leagues. 

They  had  to  us  been  very  kind, 

And  sent  us  every  breed   of  kine, 

With  fowls  of  every  quality 

In  rural  hospitality. 

Mother  and  I  inscribed  the  list 
Of  guests  invited  to  the  feast. 
To  give  full  time  to  viands  seek, 
The  feast  was  set  for  Christmas  week. 
Our  nearest  neighbor  on  the  north 
Douglass,  who  at  Sopori    held  forth — 
A  man  of  old  Virginia's  school, 
Who  here  o'er  Mexicans  held  rule. 
The  next  place  north  of  old  Tubac 
Was  Mission  San  Xavier  del  Bac, 

Whose  cure  must  of  course  have  place 

At  head   of  board,  to  ask  the  grace. 

Tucson's  convives  appreciate 

A  dinner  served  on  silver  plate: 

But  north  of  this  a  thousand  miles 

Are  only  savage  Indian  wilds. 

We  turn  us  south  up  Santa  Cruz 

And  find  Americans  who  use 

The  social  laws — and  nothing  lack, 

At  presidio  of  old  Tubac. 


Apache- Land.  45 

Thence  passing  Mission  Tumucacori 
One  league,  about  the  break  of  day, 
Next  Calabazas  comes  in  view, 
A  fine  old  Jesuit  ruin  too: 
Then  turning  south,  'cross  the  divide 
Where  savage  Indians  lurk  and  hide, 
To  intercept — perhaps  to  slaughter — 
The  traveler  at  Zarca's  water, 
We  meet  at  Imuriz  an  Alemann, 
The  blue-eyed  Saxon,  Hulsemann. 

At  Magdalena,  fast  or  feast, 

The  traveler's  a  welcome  guest; 

Gonzales'  board  is  always  spread 

With  best  of  meat  and  wine  and  bread, 

Served  by  his  mozos  all  sedate, 

Upon  a  set  of  silver  plate. 

His  beds  are  built  of  shining  brass, 

And  covered  with  a  hair  mattress. 

My  father  knew  him  long  ago, 

Where  Congo  River's  waters  flow. 

The  hacienda  "  la  Alamitta," 
A  name  and  place  both  very  pretty, 
Owned  by  old  Manuel  Yfiego, 
Who's  dead  and  gone  long  ago, 
Was  named  for  an  invited  guest; 
And  here  we'll  stop  at  night  and  rest. 
The  old  fox  lived  a  scandalous  life, 
Unmatched  except  by  his  own  wife. 
The  sons,  'tis  said,  are  dreadful  rakes, 
But  invited  for  their  sisters'  sakes. 


46  Apache- Land. 

At  "La  Labor,"  the  next  in  train, 

We  found  the  noble  Aztissirain, 

A  gentleman  in  every  part — 

In  mind  and  soul  and  mien  and  heart; 

In  travels  quite  a  wanderer. 

Now  son-in-law  of  Guadara, 

He  cultivates  estates  paternal, 

And  with  solicitude  maternal, 

Accepts  the  willing  patronage 

Of  a  thousand  held  in  peonage. 

At  Tapahua,  next  upon  the  round, 

The  governor  of  the  State  is  found, 

Don  Manuel  Maria  Guadara; 

Whom  not  the  vilest  slanderer 

Is  found  to  say  a  word  against, 

Or  bring  the  slightest  charge  fornenst. 

He  lives  in  patriarchal  state, 

His  faithful .  Yaquis  guard  his  gate; 

The  stranger's  welcome  to  his  hall, 

He's  "the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all." 

We  next  must  visit  rHermosilla 

To  wait  on  Dona  Maria  Emparra, 

The  chief  senora  of  the  place, 

Whose  most  unfortunate  disgrace, 

A  naughty  husband,  lives  afar; 

So  she's  consoled  by  Aguilar. 

Her  niece,  fair  Senorita  Goerlitz, 

Child  of  a  Russian  scamp  from  Oerlitz, 

Another  family  disgrace, 

Which  happened  down  about  San  Bias. 


'    Apache- Land.  47 

Guaymas,  a  dirty  little  port; 
Aduana  Cuartel,  an  old  mud  fort, 
The  home  of  land  and  water  rats 
Living  in  homes  unfit  for  bats, 
Engaged  in  commerce  contraband, 
Disgrace  to  either  sea  or  land. 
Haciendero's  feasts  are  never  made 
For  persons  only  known  in  trade. 
In  Guaymas  town,  the  only  man 
To  invite,  "el  Consul  American." 

The  Ainsa  family  are  invited, 

For  else  we  fear  they'll  think  they're  slighted; 

A  family  of  Manilla  race 

With  type  of  Asiatic  face. 

The  girls  are  rather  interesting, 

The  boys  you're  never  done  detesting, 

Because  they  have  such  peacock  ways 

And  always  speak  in  their  own  praise; 

But  Augustine  we  think  must  go, 

To  please  his  caro,  Amelia  Yfiigo. 

The  list  is  finished  down  so  far, 
We  now  return  to  high  Altar, 
Where  Zepada  rules  the  social  roast 
"And  busies  him  about  the  coast; 
And  neighbors  say  he's  quite  gone  mad 
-  About  the  port  of  Libertad. 
A  Ciudadano  true  is  he, 
And  first  in  every  charity; 
His  wife  and  daughter  quite  au  fait 
In  graceful  hospitality. 


48  Apache- Land. 

Our  nearest  neighbor's  Jose  Moreno, 
The  young  and  very  handsome  dueiio 
Of  the  best  hacienda  in  Sonora, 
And  very  rightly  named  Aurora; 
Where  agriculture's  well  conducted, 
And  peon  labor  is  instructed 
In  use  of  patent  implements 
Instead  of  native  simplements. 
His  horses  roam  in  countless  drove, 
A  thousand  hills  his  cattle  rove. 

This  is,  from  Guaymas  to  Tucson, 
All  who  are  classed  as  gente  de  raison. 
Another  question  rises  yet, 
Involving  frontier  etiquette: 
The  Indian  chiefs  in  neighborhood 
Have  often  sat  at  father's  board; 
Omitted  now,  they  might  take  slight, 
And  think  they  were  not  treated  right. 
Old  Anton  Azul,  the  Pima  chief, 
Is  a  good  old  man,  but  very  deaf. 

A  Papago's  name  would  load  a  horse — 

Jose  Antonio  Victoriano  Solorse, 

He  holds  his  court  at  San  Xavier, 

And  when  we  Ve  passed  gave  us  good  cheer. 

Those  Spanish  dons  are  proud  of  place, 

Punctilious  about  their  race; 

The  ladies,  too,  might  feel  unpleasant 

If  these  untutored  Los  were  present. 

So,  for  fear  of  running  'gainst  good  taste, 

We'll  not  decide  this  case  in  haste. 


• 


OF  THE 


UNIVERSITY 


-*;**•  f***«B« 


,  C».f.  F. 


THE  SAGUARA 


Apache-Land.  49 

We  spared  no  pains  in  preparation, 
To  render  this,  our  first  oblation, 
Full  worthy  of  our  rank  and  station, 
And  give  our  neighbors  delectation. 
The  fruit  of  many  cacti  serves 
To  make  most  excellent  preserves, 
Mixed  with  indigenous  miel, 
Which  Papagos  in  bottles  sell, 
Made  of  the  fruit  of  the  seguarro, 
A  name  which  Indians  only  borrow. 

The  rightful  name  is  the  "petiyah," 

For  frees  that  grow  a  little  higher; 

Or,  if  you  learned  books  discuss, 

'Tis  "  Cereus  giganteus  " — 

A  tree  which  grows  in  desert  lands, 

And  finds  its  nurture  in  the  sands; 

It  rises  limbless  fifty  feet, 

Yielding  a  fruit  both  rich  and  sweet; 

And  when  the  fruits  quite  ripened  fall, 

The  Papagos  hold  carnival. 

They  gather  it  for  winter's  use, 
And  from  the  pulp  express  the  juice, 
Obtaining,  as  I  try  to  tell, 
A  very  palatable  miel. 
The  pulp  is  then  compressed  in  cakes, 
And  very  dainty  bread  it  makes. 
The  oak  here  yields  its  rich  bellotas, 
And  in  the  ground  are  found  camotas — 
The  germ  of  our  own  sweet  potato, 
Though  cultivation  improves  its  nature. 


50  Apache- Land, 

The  ammabroma  sonorea 

Grows  freely  in  the  Papagueria, 

But  can  scarce  be  called  an  esculent — 

A  kind  of  waif,  by  nature  sent,    • 

To  feed  the  dwellers  in  the  sand, 

On  western  shores  of  Sonoraland. 

A  bread  is  made  from  the  acacia, 

An  astringent. kind  of  food  called  "pach'tea," 

With  pinons,  tunas,  and  nogale; 

Of  fruits,  Sylvester  forms  finale. 

Our  preparations  all  were  made, 

And  stores  exhaustless  were  inlaid, 

To  close  the  year  with  song  and  dance 

And  gratitude  for  our  advance 

In  prosperity  and  social  state, 

And  all  the  joys  that  should  elate 

The  prosperous  to  give  a  feast 

At  end  of  every  year,  at  least; 

We  spread  our  gates,  adorned  our  walls, 

And  decked  with  evergreens  our  halls. 

The  alameda  long  and  wide, 

With  cottonwoods  to  shade  each  side, 

Stretched  out  a  good  long  mile,  or  more, 

An  avenue  to  the  front  door. 

O'er  water  trained  in  streams  to  meet 

Beneath  stone  bridge  at  end  of  street, 

"  Bien  venido  "  welcomed  guest 

To  hospitality  and  to  rest. 

The  cannon  thundered  from  the  towers 

A  welcome  to  these  guests  of  ours. 


Apache-Land.  5 1 

Old  Douglass  came  like  old  King  Cole, 
As  guests  arrived  in  days  of  old, 
With  fiddlers  and  with  harpers  three, 
To  add  to  our  festivity. 
The  cure  of  San  Xavier  del  Bac 
Came  mounted  on  a  palfrey's  back, 
With  Tucson's  gallants  in  his  train; 
And  Commandante  Commoduran, 
The  Tubac  chief,  came,  with  his  band, 
In  an  ambulance  with  four-in-hand. 

There  are  some  meetings  like  a  doom, 
That  follow  us  unto  the  tomb. 
To  mother  in  the  colonnade, 
This  Tubac  chief  obeisance  made, 
And  kissed  my  hand  i»  greeting  meet; 
I  trembled  then  from  head  to  feet. 
But  what  of  this  ?     Our  guests  require 
The  welcome  courtesy  of  my  sire, 
His  wife's  kind  greetings  all  the  while, 
And  not  the  least  his  daughter's  smile. 

The  Tubac  chief  brought  in  his  band 
The  natives  of  most  every  land; 
But  not  for  him  these  sketches  made; 
For  what  is  he,  to  Sonora  maid  ? 
Bat  for  their  own  intrinsic  worth, 
I  must  in  duty  set  them  forth: 
First,  Ehrenberg,  a  Saxon  mild, 
Who  had  in  youth  been  very  wild, 
And  ranged  in  Texas  border  wars 
Until  his  face  was  full  of  scars. 


5  2  Apache-Land. 

Thence  wandering  far  to  Oregon, 

He  earned  his  way  with  trap  and  gun; 

From  thence  he  sailed  to  Sandwich  Isles, 

Where  he  was  employed  by  Minister  Wiles 

To  make  survey  of  Honolulu, 

And  paint  eruption  of  Tululu, 

Whence  he  sailed  to  island  Otaheite, 

Where,  'tis  said,  he  was  Queen  Pomare's  deity; 

How  this  may  be  we  must  not  scan — 

He  was  an  interesting  man. 

Brunckow,  of  name  and  type  quite  Russian — 

His  mother  was  a  native  Prussian — 

In  German  scientific  lore, 

He  learned  to  analyze  the  ore, 

And  with  a  mere  blow-pipe  assay, 

Find  out  how  much  a  mine  would  pay; 

He  came  from  Texas  over  here, 

To  search  for  mines  or  chase  the  deer; 

In  manners  he  a  Frenchman  quite, 

Extremely  well-bred  and  polite. 

Schuchard  was  a  native  Hessian, 
A  draughtsman  able  by  profession; 
And  led  by  fortune  out  this  way, 
On  the  first  Pacific  Railroad  survey; 
His  steady  gaze  I  could  not  endure, 
For  fear  he'd  make  my  caricature. 
A  fellow  of  most  wondrous  wit, 
Who  oft  with  pencil  made  a  hit 
Which  pen  or  words  cannot  describe, 
But  they  ne'er  forget  who  feel  the  gibe. 


Apache- Land.  53 

Methner,  Besler,  and  other  Dutchmen — 

You  have  no  interest  in  such  men, 

They  just  know  how  to  smoke  the  pipe  ; 

But  Kuestel  was  of  Magyar  type, 

And  learned  in  best  Hungarian  schools 

To  use  assay  and  mining  tools. 

His  sister,  and  niece,  the  fraulein  Kline, 

Were  company  for  those  at  the  mine. 

The  fraulein,  a  most  accomplished  person, 

Inspired,  somehow,  a  great  aversion. 

Pumpelly,  prince  of  mining  men, 

Completes  the  list  of  Tubac's  ten, 

Who  came  to  join  our  festive  board, 

And  render  praise  to  harvest  Lord. 

If  one's  omitted  where  you've  read, 

'Tis  in  sacred  memory  of  the  dead; 

The  Pima  Indians  teach  you  this, 

And  always  take  it  quite  amiss 

To  question  them  about  a  brother 

Who's  gone  where  angels  round  him  hover. 

Hulsemann  came  with  old  Torafio, 
The  Gonzales  name  is  all  engafio  ; 
My  father  knew  him  on  Congo's  coast, 
And  .here  they  meet  as  guest  and  host, 
To  talk  of  ventures  of  the  sea, 
And  ante-nuptial  revelry. 
They  drove  a  pair  of  spanking  bays, 
And  others  led  for  fresh  relays  ; 
Torafio  traveled  in  great  state, 
And  carried  with  him  silver  plate. 


54  Apache- Land. 

The  Ynigos  came  with  grand  escort 

Of  Indian  lancers,  like  cohort 

Of  ancient  soldiers,  trained  to  wield, 

On  horse  or  foot,  the  spear  and  shield  ; 

The  Aztissirains,  with  ample  train, 

In  carriage  that  was  brought  from  Spain; 

The  governor's  guard,  a  hundred  Yaquis — 

As  soldiers  you'll  not  find  their  matches  ; 

They've  stood  by  him  in  all  his  wars, 

And  carry  many  ugly  scars. 

The  fat  old  Dona  Maria  Emparra, 
With  pretty  niece,  came  in  a  carro, 
Bringing  along,  with  part  her  train, 
A  handsome  young  American  ; 
The  Ainsas  came  in  shabby  plight, 
Reminding  us  of  adage  trite — 
In  pride  and  poverty  partnership, 
There's  sometimes  good  companionship  ; 
The  Morenos  and  Zapedas  together 
Arrived  like  other  birds  of  feather. 

After  the  usual  salutations, 

Our  guests  were  taken  to  different  stations, 

Their  attendants  placed  in  proper  quarters, 

And  horses  led  to  drink  the  waters. 

They  all  arrived  by  Noche-bueno, 

The  Christmas  eve  of  Americano, 

In  time  to  change  their  dusty  costumes, 

And  join  with  us  in  Christian  customs, 

While  Father  Escalante  read, 

And  the  church's  blessing  on  us  spread. 


Apache-Land. 

On  Christmas  morn,  at  rise  of  sun, 
The  hour  was  told  by  peal  of  gun, 
Which,  sounding  from   the  mountain   peaks, 
Waked  echoes  in  the  valley  creeks, 
Announcing  here,  in  place  forlorn, 
The  day  the  Son  of  God  was  born. 
The  greetings  made,  a  mass  was  said, 
And  then  the  festive  board  was  spread  ; 
My  part  was  first  to  brew  a  grog 
Americans  mix  and  call   egg-nog, 

The  chief  components  milk  and  brandy; 

But  if  you've  not  the  cognac  handy, 

Good  whisky  serves  as  substitute, 

Or  rum,  or  juice  of  maguey  root. 

The  milk  must  first  be  thoroughly  sweetened, 

Then  yolk  of  eggs  as  thoroughly  beaten  ; 

The  whites  are  whipped  to  make  the  foam, 

Some  nutmeg  to  adorn  the  comb; 

Then  serve  in  goblets,  and  the  rest 

Is  "  Merry  Christmas "  to  your  guest. 

Arrangements  had  been  made  before, 
To  have  the  fish  brought  from  sea-shore, 
And  oysters,  which  are  now  in  season, 
With  turtles,  to  make  soup  to  feast  on  ; 
The  rancho  furnished  beef  and  mutton, 
With  pigs  enough  for  any  glutton  ; 
And  hunters  had  been  hired,  to  grace 
Our  board  with  trophies  of  the  chase — 
With  deer,  and  antelope,  and  bear, 
And  turkeys  wild — the  best  of  fare. 


56  Apache-Land. 

The  way  to  roast  an  ox  for  feast, 
Is  whole  to  barbecue  the  beast ; 
And  turkeys  should  be  cooked  entire, 
In  a  very  hot  but  smothered  fire ; 
The  intestines  lend  the  bird  a  flavor, 
The  burning  feathers  give  it  savor. 
The  blood  of  every  meat  for  use, 
Forms  nature's  best,  most  natural  juice  ; 
Of  French  ragout  and  English  roast, 
We  do  not  care  at  all  to  boast. 

Our  Christmas  dinner  passed  off  well, 
With  incidents  we  need  not  tell ; 
Each  guest  was  seated  by  a  mate, 
To  add  to  pleasures  of  the  plate, 
The  spice  congenial  company  gives, 
When  formal  dinner  it  relieves, 
Enhancing  greatly  talk  and  zest, 
Which  gen'rous  host  desires  for  guest ; 
For  else  a  dinner's  wholly  spoiled, 
The  pleasures  of  the  day  assoiled. 

The  wines  were  served  from  crystal  stoup, 
A  little  sherry  after  soup  ; 
Chablis  with  fish,  next  after  which 
The  drink  was  claret,  red  and  rich  ; 
Champagne,  of  course,  was  served  with  game. 
All  dinners  are  about  the  same, 
And  after  a  while  the  men  got  prosy, 
When  the  ladies  retired  to  have  a  cozy; 
For  while  they  linger  o'er  the  port, 
We,  too,  must  have  our  little  sport. 


Apache- Land.  57 

For  outdoor  sports  throughout  the  days, 

We  improvised  some  little  plays. 

A  chicken  cock  placed  in  the  ground 

At  outer  edge  of  the  race-course  round, 

His  head  projecting  from  the  mound, 

Formed  mark  for  horsemen  sweeping  round, 

Who  stooped  from  saddle-bow  to  ground, 

And  oft  a  tumbled  rider  found 

His  equestrian  ability 

Outmatched  by  cock's  agility. 

The  Yaquis  gave  their  native  dance 
•  In  circle  gathered  round  the  lance, 
At  center  firmly  set  in  ground, 
With  pennons  spread  the  circle  round, 
Their  anklet,  shells  of  rattlesnakes, 
In  dancing  a  wild  cadence  makes; 
While  song,  invented  for  the  hour, 
In  fashion  of  the  troubadour, 
In  verse  lampooned  each  noted  guest, 
With  hits  that  brought  the  laugh  and  jest. 

All  day,  scrape  spread  on  ground, 
The  gambling  groups  may  here  be  found 
Indulging  in  a  monte  game 
Of  cards,  of  ancient  Aztec  fame. 
Inveterate  gamblers  are  the  Yaquis, 
And  freely  risk  their  hard-earned  tlacos 
In  games  of  chance  and  sports  and  races, 
Just  as  they  do  in  other  places  ; 
'All  the  world's  a  stage,"  as  Shakespeare  says, 
And  where's  the  man  but  sometimes  plays? 


58  Apache- Land. 

A  bull-fight  may  be  seen  in  Spain. 
In  Cuba,  or  on  the  Spanish  Main  ; 
But  here,  to  make  the  sport  more  rare, 
We  matched  a  bull  against  a  bear. 
The  horse-corral  formed  ample  theater, 
The  walls  around  formed  amphitheater, 
Where  guests  in  safety  watched  the  sight 
Of  bull  and  bruin  come  to  fight. 
After  sundry  passes,  thrusts,  and  turns, 
The  bull  tossed  bruin  on  his  horns. 

Our  nights  were  spent  in  Spanish  dancing, 

And  when  the  night  was  found  advancing, 

We  passed  around  the  loving  cup, 

To  keep  the  dancers'  spirits  up. 

To  make  this  cup  is  quite  a  secret, 

But  as  you're  a  man,  of  course  you'll  keep  it: 

Rum,  brandy,  or  whisky  makes  the  body, 

And  for  a  flavor,  apple-toddy, 

Champagne  frappe,  and  rich  ice-cream — 

To  bed,  and  of  the  angels  dream. 

The  night  before  the  year  expires, 

We  improvise  a  night  surprise, 

To  leave  on  memory  pleasant  phantoms. 

The  lake  was  covered  with  Chinese  lanterns, 

Each  strung  on  wire,  which  moved  about, 

As  the  Chinese  pulled  them  in  and  out, 

In  shape  of  mimic  ships  on  fire, 

And  grotesque  imps  on  dancing  wire  ; 

A  pyrotechnical  display 

Gives  welcome  to  the  New  Year's  day. 


Apache- Land.  59 

An  emperor,  in  days  of  yore, 
Sought  daughter  lost  along  the  shore, 
With  lanterns,  boats,  and  dredging  gear, 
For  she  was  drowned,  they  all  did  fear. 
By  lighting  all  the  lake  around, 
The  father  soon  his  daughter  found  ; 
And  in  gratitude  to  great  Shang-te, 
Made  laws  that  always,  on  the  sea, 
The  feast  of  lanterns  should  be  kept, 
For  daughter  found,  who  erst  was  wept. 

Our  guests  were  gone  ; 

We  three  alone 

The  Winter  days  and  nights  must  pass, 

Secluded  now  and  lone.     Alas, 

That,  from  the  ark  let  loose,  the  dove 

Found  olive-branch  to  bear  above! 

The  family  have  since  dispersed, 

And  those  most  thoroughly  well  versed 

In  lineage  can't  trace  their  tree, 

As  it  has  spread  o'er  land  and  sea. 

We  watched  the  sunrise  day  by  day, 
In  morning  dawn  with  silver  ray, 
Send  forth  through  Santa  Rita's  peaks 
His  first  clear-pointed  silver  streaks ; 
By  noon  he  rolled,  a  copper  god, 
O'er  mountain  peaks  by  man  ne'er  trod  ; 
At  evening,  gold,  with  purple  clouds, 
Majestic,  gorgeous,  golden  shrouds ; 
He  sinks  beyond  Babaquivari, 
To  rest  in  far  Pacific  sea. 


60  Apache-Land. 

My  father  strung  the  soft  guitar, 
My  mother  sung  some  Moorish  air  ; 
The  zithern  melted  in  her  hand, 
As  she  played  and  sung  of  Moorish  land. 
My  Pima  maid  and  I  kept  tune. 
These  Indians  have  a  vocal  boon; 
They  sing  with  melody  and  heart, 
And  could  excel  in  vocal  art ; 
The  climate  favors  voice  and  lung, 
And  this  is  the  very  land  of  song. 

In  spring  the  mountain  torrents  loosed 
Some  flakes  of  gold  from  craggy  roost, 
And  brought  them  down  the  grand  canal, 
Which  flowed  along  our  peaceful  val. 
The  Eden  serpent  come  by  stealth  ! 
Oh,  false,  vain  counterfeit  of  wealth  ! 
Oh,  cursed  gold,  oh,  fiendish  dross  ! 
Your  fancied  gain  was  our  great  loss. 
They  fascinated  father's  eyes, 
And  he  gave  up  all  to  win  the  prize. 

No  more  the  land  was  tilled  for  bread, 
No  more  at  night  the  Bible  rfead. 
No  more  was  wife  or  child  cared  .for; 
The  only  deity  now  was  d'or. 
For  machines  of  heavy  bulk  and  weight, 
My  father  pledged  the  vast  estate 
To  Tubac's  chief,  who  dealt  in  ores, 
And  furnished  miners  mining  stores ; 
His  Spanish  nature  all  soon  changed, 
And  from  his  family  estranged. 


Apache-Land.  6 1 

All  love  and  courtesy  now  denied, 
My  gentle  mother  pined  and  died; 
The  first  spring  violets  on  her  grave, 
A  prayer  to  Mary  her  soul  to  save  ; 
A  child  brought  up  in  Moorish  bowers, 
Who  watched  the  sea  from  father's  towers, 
Here  buried  in  these  western  mountains, 
It  brings  the  tears  from  driest  fountains  ; 
This  was  the  first  sincere  youth's  sorrow 
Which  forever  clouds  life's  coming  morrow. 

One  Sabbath  morn,  at  break  of  day, 

When  counting  mother's  rosary, 

A  cry  rang  out  so  wild  and  high, 

That  it  had  almost  pierced  the  sky — 

Apaches  !  that  dreadful  knell, 

Announcing  here  these  fiends  of  hell; 

Apaches  !  !  that  dreadful  note, 

That  makes  the  breath  stick  in  the  throat  ; 

Apaches  !  !  !  that  dreadful  doom, 

That  shadowed  forth  a  bloody  tomb. 

The  savages  prepared  at  night 
To  make  attack  at  dawn  of  light; 
My  father  fell  at  his  own  door, 
Filling  the  "  salvatum  "  sill  with  gore; 
A  red  fiend  caught  me  round  the  waist, 
And  on  my  father's  best  horse  placed; 
Then  mounting  on  behind,  gave  lash, 
And  passed  away,  like  lightning  flash. 
My  Pima  maid  swung  by  the  hair, 
In  gripe  of  other  savage  bear. 


62  Apache- Land. 

About  a  hundred  rode  behind, 

With  spoil  of  horses  and  of  kine. 

We  passed  Sopori  in  two  hours — 

The  smoke  was  issuing  from  the  towers; 

There  was  no  sign  of  cow  nor  horse — 

Old  Douglass  lay  a  bloody  corse, 

With  neither  friend  nor  kinsman  near, 

To  perform  the  rites  of  sepulture; 

His  faithful  harpers  beside  him  lay, 

And  requiem  played  as  they  passed  away. 

By  noon  we  crossed  the  Santa   Cruz. 
Oh!  holy  name  of  Cross,  infuse 
Some  pity  in  the  saints  above, 
To  rescue  me,  for  Christ's  dear  love. 
Oh!  for  some  power  divine,  alack! 
To  telegraph  to  old  Tubac; 
The  chief  would  gather  all  his  clan, 
And  make  pursuit  becoming  man; 
For  nothing  so  becomes  the  brave, 
As  weak  and  captured  maid  to  save. 

At  evening,  as  the  setting   sun 

Threw  its  last  lingering  beams  upon 

The  towers  and  domes  of  San  Xavier, 

We  passed  in  sight  and  very  near 

Where  pious  priests,  and  nuns  among, 

Chanted  the  wonted  vesper-song. 

Oh!  holy  Maty,  pity  have, 

And  a  lost  and  helpless  maiden  save. 

I  struggled  in  my  captor's  vice, 

And  threw  a  kiss  to  the  cross  of  Christ. 


Apache-Land.  63 

Oh  !  for  a  magic  telephone 

To  communicate  with  old  Tucson; 

Her  chivalry  would  quickly  arm, 

And  never  let  me  come  to  harm. 

The  Oury's  brave  as  lion's  cubs, 

And  dare-devil  as  Beelzebubs; 

Pete  Kitchen  on  his  skew-bald  horse, 

With  Papago  auxiliary  force, 

Would  make  pursuit  with  bated  breath, 

To  rescue,  or  to  meet  their  death. 

The  night  came  on,  we  thundered  on; 

All  hope  of  rescue  now  was  gone. 

We  scoured  across  the  plain, 

The  livelong  night  ne'er  drew  a  rein. 

I  tore  some  slips  from  my  night-gown, 

And  slyly  dropped  them  on  the  ground 

To  guide  pursuit,  if  any  came. 

I  bowed  my  head  to  the  horse's  mane, 

And  prayed  the  orphan's  only  Friend 

Relief  and  succor  soon  to  send. 

At  dawn  of  day  on  Gila's  banks 
Our  caballada  cooled  their  flanks, 
And  rested  here  for  rise  of  sun. 
The  Apache's  northern  goal  was  won; 
For  Gila  forms  the  boundary  line 
Between  these  nomads  and  mankind. 
Towards  the  east  the  Rio  Grande 
Forms  eastern  boundary  of  their  land; 
The  Colorado's  stream  runs  by 
The  golden  rim  of  their  western  sky. 


64  Apache-Land. 

While  beasts  rushed  down  to  water's  edge 
Their  burning  thirst  to  there  assuage, 
The  Indians  hastened  to  prepare 
The  rudest  kind  of  hunter's  fare; 
Fat  burro  steaks,  and  roast  maguey, 
With  pachete,  and  with  mesquite  tea; 
Then  washed  themselves  in  Gila's  flood, 
To  clear  away  the  stains  of  blood; 
For  Apaches  all  from  food  refrain 
Till  hands  are  freed  from  bloody  stain. 

A  watch  was  set  upon  a  rise, 

To  guard  the  camp  against  surprise, 

And  Gila's  rugged  canon  made 

A  strong  and  natural  ambuscade 

To  trap  pursuers  from  the  south, 

While  others  drove  the  cattle  north; 

The  trail  wound  round  by  Saddle  Peak, 

And  followed  up  Aliso  Creek 

To  where  San  Carlos'  waters  gleam 

And  form  a  junction  with  the  stream. 

Another  night  was  passed  in  travel, 
O'er  bowlders,  rocks,  and  sand  and  gravel; 
When  morning's  sun,  o'er  mountain  broke, 
Revealed  the  blue  Apache  smoke 
Arising  from  the  rock  Canada, 
Which  guards  their  camp  and  caballada 
In  horseshoe  shape,  the  heel  at  mouth, 
Egress  and  entrance  from  the  south, 
Where  about  a  thousand  Indians  dwelt, 
Who  never  fear  nor  danger  felt. 


"' 

LITH.  Bft/TTOM.fier  &  CO  S.f. 


ANCIENT  CLIFF  HOUSE. 


Apache-Land.  65, 

The  camp,  aroused  by  \vatchful  scouts, 

Received  their  braves  with  welcome  shouts; 

Made  fair  division  of  the  spoil, 

Without  contention  rude,  or  broil, 

Each  taking-  fair  and  just  proportion, 

As  he  had  furnished  contribution, 

Or  personally  efforts  made 

In  consummation  of  the  raid. 

But  what  a  mental  agony 

To  know  what  should  become  of  me  ! 

The  captors  were  a  Final  band, 
Who  occupy  this  mountain  land; 
The  Gila  River  on  the  south, 
The  mountain  ranges  to  the  north, 
Rising  in  range  o'er  range  so  high, 
The  topmost  range  shuts  out  the  sky; 
The  Rio  Verde  binds  the  west, 
The  Rio  Grande  towards  the  east; 
The  central  river,  called  the  Salt, 
Runs  through  deep  canons  of  basalt. 

The  chief  was  Mangus  Colorado, 
A  great,  stern  chief,  without  bravado — 
'Red  Sleeve,"  in  English  patronymic; 
He  gained  this  name,  in  barbarous  mimic, 
For  deeds  of  savage  hardihood, 
Which  covered  his  right  arm  with  blood. 
My  captor  was  his  son  Cachise, 
A  chief  more  famed  for  war  than  peace. 
These  Indians  from  their  captives  learn 
Many  a  useful  art  and  turn. 


66  Apache- Land. 

The  old  chief  took  my  hand  and  spoke 
In  Spanish,  with  Indian  gutturals  broke: 
"  Young-  maiden,  do  not  shake  your  hands. 
Your  captors  are  not  Mexicans, 
But  men  who  always  spare  the  brave, 
The  virtue  of  their  captives  save. 
Descended  from  the  Mongol  race, 
These  mountains  form  our  resting-place;' 
The  ancient  chieftains  of  our  clan 
Were  Tamerlane  and  Ghenghis  Khan. 

"With  Asian  conquests  not  content, 
We  came  to  take  this  continent, 
And  founded  here,  at  old  Tubac, 
The  empire  old  of  Anahuac. 
The  Spaniard  came,  with  thirst  for  gold, 
With  novel  arms,  that  thunder  rolled, 
And  drove  us  from  the  plains  below— 
Overmatches  for  our  lance  and  bow; 
We'll  ne'er  forgive  their  mongrel  brood, 
Until  we  wipe  it  out  in  blo*)d. 

"But  you,  a  woman,  rest  content, 
And  share  my  wife  and  daughter's  tent. 
The  laws  of  Tartar  clans  forbid 
Their  sons  with  captive  maids  to  wed; 
While  race  of  Tooglook's  sons  endure, 
Their  blood  and  lineage  must  be  pure. 
Your  menial  service  will  suffice 
For  this  domestic  sacrifice; 
You  can  my  daughter  teach  the  arts 
Which  you  have  learned  in  foreign  parts. 


Apache- Land.  67 


"  Our  women  famed  for  chastity 
As  ermine  of  Alaska's  sea, 
That  cannot  bear  the  slighest  blurr 
Upon  their  snow-white  vesture  pure. 
Your  mongrel  race  cut  off  the  hair 
From  women  caught  in  vice's  lair; 
But  we,  more  rigid,  mark  the  face 
So  time  nor  art  cannot  efface;      ,/ 
The  punishment  we  have  for  those, 
Is  amputation  of  the  nose." 

The  tents  were  formed  of  willow  poles 
Set  round  in  circles,  stuck  in  holes, 
The  tops  made  to  the  center  meet, 
A  rustic  dome  'gainst  rain  and  sleet, 
With  covering  of  brush  and  hides, 
And  skins  of  beasts  to  line  the  sides. 
Thus  nature  teaches  savage  men 
First  principles  of  art  to  ken, 
First  lesson  in  architecture  given 
From  model  of  the  dome  of  heaven. 

The  morning  duty  first  begins 
With  filling  all  the  water-skins, 
Which,  made  of  leather  and  rawhide, 
With  thongs  of  deer  securely  tied, 
Contain  the  water  for  the  day, 
And  hang  convenient  for  foray; 
These  leathern  botas,  not  ornate, 
The  heated  vapour  exhalate, 
And  keep  the  water  fresh  and  cool 
As  mountain  spring  or  icy  pool. 


UFI71ESIT7 


68  Apache- Land. 

The  firewood,  next,  was  gathered  in. 
A  bullock's  rawhide  formed  the  bin, 
The  fore-legs  looped  around  our  necks, 
The  hind-legs  stretched  on  forked  sticks. 
The  loads,  filled  in  with  mesquite  limbs 
And  branches  that  the  Apache  trims, 
With  bark  of  oak  and  cottonwood, 
And  others  that  for  fires  are  good, 
Formed  burden  of  such  heavy  ponder 
That  we  could  scarcely  stagger  under. 

The  morning  meal  prepared  in  haste, 
Of  bullock's  steaks  and  mesquite  paste, 
We  commenced  the  labors  of  the  day, 
The  hides  of  savage  beasts  to  fray; 
They  first  were  soaked  in  water-lime, 
Subjected- then  a  while  to  brine, 
The  hair  to  loosen  and  make  soft, 
So  we  could  easily  rub  it  off 
With  polished  drawing  knives  of  ash, 
Which  soon  made  skins  as  soft  as  sash. 

In  season  when  the  plant  maguey 
Gives  flower  to  bloom  its  scent  away 
On  desert  air,  in  place  remote — 
A  plant  about  which  Chinese  wrote; 
They  called  the  aloe-plant  "  Fusang," 
And  Oriental  praises  sang 
Two  thousand  years  and  more  ago, 
To  fruit  and  flower  of  aloe — 
A  food  for  either  man  or  beast; 
A  spirit  giving  divine  surcease. 


Apache- Land.  69 

This  aloe  grows  on  mountain-sides, 
In  desert  lands  its  beauty  hides, 
And  yields  to  man  its  saccharine  bread, 
About  the  size  of  cabbage-head; 
The  head  is  cut  and  shorn  of  thorn 
And  flower  which  its  top  adorn, 
Then  placed  in  oven,  underground, 
And  roasted  till  its  meat  is  found — 
The  substitute  Apache  bread, 
Which  nature  forms  from  maguey-head. 

The  men  another  custom  have — 

The  leaves  of  maguey-head  they  shave, 

Then  mash  the  substance  to  a  pulp, 

Compressing  all  the  juice  of  bulb 

Into  a  vat  of  stout  rawhides, 

From  which  the  sun  the  juice  oxides, 

Forming  a  simple  fermentation, 

Producing  Apache  intoxication. 

This  liquor,  distilled  in  horns  alembous, 

Causes  a  "delirium  tremendous." 

The  Tizween  drink  is  much  enjoyed; 
To  make  it  Indian  corn's  employed; 
They  bury  the  corn  until  it  sprouts — 
Destroying  food  for  drinking  bouts; 
Then  grind  it  in  a  kind  of  tray, 
Then  boil  it  strong  about  a  day; 
Strain  off  the  juice  in  willow  sieve, 
And  in  the  sun  to  ferment  leave. 
The  fermented  juice  is  called  tulpai, 
On  which  Apache  chief  gets  high.        • 


70  Apache-Land. 

The  oak  majestic  yields  her  quota, 
The  fruit  of  which  is  called  bellota. 
Gathered  and  stored  for  winter's  use, 
To  give  nutrition  and  amuse. 
At  eve,  around  the  wild  camp-fire, 
The  roasted  acorn  serves  to  tire 
The  tedium  of  night  away; 
And  in  Apache  fun  and   play, 
The  vulgar  gouber's  superseded, 
And  manners  to  the  old  are  heeded. 

Beside  the  fruits  of  the  wild  cherry, 
The  manzanita  bears  a  berry, 
From  which  an  acid  drink  is  made, 
And  called  a  mountain  lemonade; 
The  wild-pea  gives  its  imitation 
In  this  wild  desert  vegetation, 
And  furnishes,  preserved  in  pod, 
Another  evidence  that  God, 
In  wilderness  howe'er  remote, 
Provides  some  food  for  man's  support. 

You're  not  so  ignorant,  I  hope, 

To  think  that  Indians  ne'er  use  soap, 

When  nature  spreads  it  in  their  way, 

Abundant  as  the  soft  maguey. 

The  yucca  seeds  form  an  atole, 

The  root 's  a  saponaceous  amole, 

Which  maids  and  matrons  freely  gather, 

To  make  a  serviceable  lather 

To  cleanse  the  skin  as  clean  as  snow, 

And  rr»ke  the  hair  and  pechos  grow. 


Apache-Land.  7 1 

The  women  gather  willow  boughs, 
Which  grow  where'er  the  water  flows, 
And  cutting  off  the  limbs  and  leaves, 
A  strong  and  useful  basket  weaves, 
Which,  tightly  glued  with  gum  mesquite, 
With  painted  figures  strange  and  neat, 
Makes  utensil  which  for  use  and  looks 
Might  well  be  used  by  better  folks. 
The  first  domestic  willow  use 
Is  to  cradle  small  Apach'  papoose. 

The  men  engaged  in  manly  games, 
With  wild,  uncouth  Apache  names; 
The  ball  of  stone  on  horse  to  roll 
With  long  and  polished  maguey  pole. 
A  hole  drilled  half-way  through  the  rock, 
Gave  point  of  vantage  for  the  shock, 
Which  skillful  rider  strove  to  win 
By  driving  pole  the  hole  within, 
Then  riding  with  stone  poised  on  high, 
As  evidence  of  victory. 

The  race-course,  formed  by  nature's  hand 
Where  rough  sierras  bound  the  land, 
Gave  ample  space  for  coursers  fleet, 
Their  match  in  strength  and  speed  to  meet; 
The  Apache  scorns  the  barbed  bit, 
And  (ashions  bridle  far  more  fit, 
Of  rawhide  round  the  lower  jaw, 
With  reins  of  hair  the  horse  to  draw; 
Then  mounting  bareback  on  the  steed, 
He  puts  him  to  his  greatest  speed. 


7  2  Apache- Land. 

To  shoe  a  horse  in  fashion  coarse, 
The  Apache  never  hurts  a  horse; 
The  smithy  gently  takes  his  foot, 
And  fastens  on  a  rawhide  boot, 
Which,  strapped  the  ankle-joint  above, 
Makes  fit  as  tight  as  lady's  glove; 
The  hide  put  on  is  soft  and  wet, 
To  make  a  neat  and  perfect  set, 
Then  left  in  sun  his  hoof  to  dry  on, 
Makes  shoe  as  good  and  hard  as  iron. 

In  games  of  cards  the  men  delight, 

And  over  monte  often  fight. 

The  cards  are  made  of  hardened  leather, 

Defying  time,  and  use,  and  weather; 

A  greasy  pack,  with  painted  kings, 

And  queens,  and  jacks,  and  all  such   things, 

As  sportsmen  typify  the  game, 

And  ladies  scarcely  know  the  name — 

A  sport  confined  to  men's  diversion, 

To  which  the  women  have  aversion. 

The  rules  adopted  for  the  dance 

Exceed  the  politesse  of  France; 

The  young  bucks  form  a  ring  around, 

The  maids  are  placed  in  center  ground; 

And  when  the  music  from  tom-tom, 

Accompanied  by  rawhide  drum, 

Arouses  itching  of  the  toes, 

Each  maiden  for  her  favorite  goes, 

Evincing  thus  her  fond  affection, 

And  making:  natural  selection. 


Apache-Land.  73 

Each  state  has  its  Eleusinian  games, 

To  grace  events  that  have  no  names. 

They  here  prepare  a  festive  race 

For  girl  arrived  at  woman's  place, 

And  strew  the  course  with  flowers  round, 

And  spread  their  presents  on  the  ground. 

The  girl,  with  others  more  mature, 

Tries  what  her  pubert  strength  can  endure. 

The  flowers  and  gifts,  caught  by  the  way, 

Are  ornaments  for  wedding-day. 

The  summer  passed  in  sport  and  frolic, 
The  Apaches  ne'er  get  melancholic. 
The  autumn  fruits  were  stored  away, 
With  stacks  of  juicy  roast  maguey; 
The  skins  were  full  of  roast  bellotas, 
And  mescal  juice  filled  up  the  botas; 
The  costals  filled  with  pemmican, 
And  strong  meats  for  the  wants  of  man. 
The  summer  heats  have  passed  away, 
And  autumn  bids  a  fierce  foray. 

The  Apache  thinks  the  husbandman 
A  peon,  who  only  tills  the  land 
For  use  of  lords  of  nomad  race, 
Who  scorn  to  earn,  by  sweat  of  face, 
The  bread  to  feed  their  little  ones, 
Or  clothes  to  clothe  their  pretty  ones, 
And  follows  out  the  good  old  plan 
Of  get  who  may  and  keep  who  can; 
That  herders  are  but  Ishmaelites, 
To  fatten  those  who  win  the  fights. 


74  Apache- Land. 

The  country  south  a  hundred  leagues 
Was  full  of  corn  and  wine  and  trigos, 
Fat  cattle,  horses,  mules,  and  pelf — 
Enough  to  tempt  old  Nick   himself. 
The  natives  robbed  them  of  their  land, 
Made  them  a  nomad  robber  band. 
Why  should  they  not  retaliate, 
And  ravage,  murder,  vengeance  sate, 
Upon  the  dirty  mongrel  race 
Who  occupy  the  Spaniard's  place? 

The  leader  of  the  first  foray, 

A  young  chief  named  Pion-Senay, 

Who  called  for  braves  to  join  his  band, 

For  raid  upon  Sonora  land. 

They  came  in  numbers  thick  and  fast, 

Each  eager  not  to  be  the  last; 

Their  horses  fat  and  sleek  with  feed, 

Their  arms  prepared  for  time  of  need, 

Their  lances  polished  bright  as  steel, 

They  sallied  forth  to  rob  and  steal. 

The  new  moon  pointed  to  the  south, 
Its  horns  erect,  presaging  drouth; 
For,  like  all  nomads  planning  rides, 
They  take  the  planets  for  their  guides. 
A  scanty  ration  served  their  use; 
A  leathern  flask  of  mescal  juice, 
A  buckskin  bag  of  ground  panole — 
For  sustenance  this  formed  the  whole; 
For  warriors  going  on  the  scent, 
Go  free  of  all  impediment. 


Apache-Land.  7  5 

A  full  moon  generally  suffices, 
Gives  time  enough  to  gain  their  prizes; 
They  march  at  night,  and  in  the  day 
From  mountain  tops  the  roads  waylay. 
The  ranchers  gather  herds  and  flocks 
In  corrals  built  of  adobes  or  rocks; 
The  Apaches  steal  around  the  pens, 
And  stealthily,  to  gain  their  ends, 
Saw  doors  in  mud  with  stout  hair  rope, 
And  with  the  caballada  elope. 

If  cunning  ranchmen  interpose 
Some  sticks  or  stones  in  building  close, 
So  Apache  saw  can  make  no  way, 
They  undertake  another  way; 
The  ropes  are  fastened  on  the  walls, 
The  Apaches  mount  into  corrals; 
Each  singling  out  the  fleetest  horse, 
They  await  the  break  of  day,  of  course, 
When  sleepy  ranchmen  drop  the  bars, 
And  scarcely  can  believe  their  stars, 
When  Apaches,  with  a  loud  hurrah, 
Before  them  drive  their  herds  afar. 

The  ranchmen  seldom  make  pursuit, 
Admonished  by  its  bitter  fruit; 
The  Apaches,  watching  in  the  rear, 
Descry  a  dust  in  atmosphere, 
Dispatch  the  booty  on  ahead; 
An  ambuscade  is  quickly  made 
Behind  a  ledge  of  rocks  on  road, 
Or  by  the  river's  bank  or  ford. 
Pursuers  always  come  to  grief, 
And  get  far  more  of  lead  than    beef. 


7  6  Apache- L  and. 

The  moon  was  waning  in  the  east, 
The  time  had  come  for  Apache  feast, 
When  just  about  the  break  of  day 
The  scouts  announced  Pion-Senay; 
Three  hundred  head  of  stock  he  drove 
For  shelter,  in  our  wild  alcove, 
And  loads  of  corn,  and  wheat,  and  beans, 
Were  added  to  our  winter  means; 
With  stuffs  and  goods  for  winter  dresses, 
And  ornament^  to  bind  our  tresses. 

The  news,  brought  in  by  raiding  band, 
Caused  great  stir  in  Apache- land; 
Another  flag  now  floats  the  breeze, 
And  waves  above  the  cottonwood  trees. 
The  fl^g  that  carrion-buzzard  flaws, 
With  hated  nopal  in  his  claws, t 
Is  furled  and  silently  withdrawn. 
Another -flag  floats  o'er  Tucson; 
The  eagle  soars  'midst  countless  stars, 
The  king  of  birds  in  peace  or  wars. 

The  flag  unfurled  on  Bunker  Hill 
Has  come,  the  emblem  of  good-will, 
A  thousand  leagues,  or  thereabouts. 
This  starry  banner  waves  and  floats, 
Flag  of  the  brave,  flag  of  the  free — 
It  may  give  liberty  to  me. 
They  told  of  horsemen  in  blue  coats, 
And  wild,  resounding  bugle  notes; 
And  cannon  thundering  o'er  the  plain, 
And  guns  that  fired,  and  fired  again. 


Apache- Land.  77 

The  brave  Cachise  led  next  foray, 
The  largest  raid  for  many  a  day. 
A  hundred  horsemen  sallied  out, 
Armed  for  the  battle  and  the  rout; 
The  moon  scarce  waned  on  Final  hills, 
When  wails  the  Apache  valley  fills; 
Cachise  alone,  of  all  his  band, 
Comes  wounded  to  Apache-land. 
The  clan  soon  gathered  in  the  vale, 
To  hear  the  wounded  warrior's  tale. 

He  said:  "I  led  the  wonted  trails 
To  where  the  running  water  fails, 
And  rushes  back  upon  the  sands 
Like  coursers  of  Apache  bands, 
Unfit  for  use  of  man  or  beast, 
So  salty  to  the  smell  and  taste. 
We  gathered  on  the  Yaqui,  sheep, 
And  left  the  herders  in  the  sleep 
Which  sent  their  spirits  gathering  wool, 
Where  fleecy  clouds  above  us  roll. 

'  A  band  of  horses,  next,  we  planned, 
Bearing  the  Alamitta  brand; 
The  herders  made  a  brave  defense, 
And  many  felt  Apache  lance; 
The  rest  were  tied  with  running  noose, 
Made  of  their  own  rawhide  lassos, 
Around  the  neck,  and  left  to  stretch 
Their  limbs  above  the  water-ditch, 
On  limbs  of  lofty  alamos, 
Which  on  the  Alamitta  grows. 


78  Apache- Land. 

"  A  herd  of  cattle,  next,  were  seen, 
Upon  the    Noria  Verde    green; 
Estrella's  brand  their  flanks  defaced. 
The  vaqueros  one  another  raced, 
In  haste  to  gain  their  torreon, 
While  we  drove  all  the  cattle  on. 
We  passed  the  ruined  Aribac, 
Where  not  a  human  being's  track 
Remains  to  mark  the  former  state 
Of  life  upon  this  grand  estate. 

"TJie  Sopori  towers  in  ruins  tumble, 
The  walls  of  Douglass  ruined  crumble, 
And  none  remain  to  work  the  mine, 
Or  plant  the  field,  or  tend  the  kine. 
We  crossed  the  Santa  Cruz  at  noon, 
Half-way  from  Tubac  to  Tucson, 
And  made  a  camp  upon  the  creek, 
Just  north  of  Santa  Rita's  peak, 
Where  grama  grass  and  woods  abound, 
And  rest  from  our  long:  drive  was  found , 


o 


"We  turned  the  cattle  out  to  graze, 
And  made  our  meal  of  Indian  maize, 
Then  stretched  us  out  to  seek  repose 
Beneath  the  quercus'  shady  boughs, 
When,  like  a  thunder-clap  upon 
The  camp,  crashed  the  repeating-gun; 
With  steady  fire  of  rifle-ball 
And  pistol-shot,  my  men  all  fall, 
Dragoons  in  blue  the  camp  surround, 
And  in  a  moment  I  am  bound. 


Apache- Land.  79 

"  My  few  surviving  braves  were  hung 

On  trees,  to  make  the  ravens'  dung, 

And  I,  in  thongs  of  stout  rawhide, 

Was  led  the  captain's  tent  beside; 

He  said,  wide  pointing  with  his  hands: 
'This  land  no  more  is  Mexican's; 

We  bought  it  from  the  dirty  race, 

And  come  in  power  to  take  our  place; 

To  spread  our  flag  from  mountain-top, 

To  guard  the  roads,  and  foray  stop. 

"  '  Your  race  forever,  from  henceforth, 

Must  keep  yourselves  in  mountains  north; 
The  Gila's  ford  on  south  must  be 
Henceforth,  your  utmost  boundary; 
And  each  Apache  across  this  bound, 
In  arms  or  stealth  hereafter  found, 
Shall  suffer  death  by  rifle  ball. 
Or,  if  as  captive  he  should  fall, 
He  shall  be  hanged  upon  a  tree, 
As  warning  sign  of  infamy/ 

"My  Tartar  blood  boiled  as  he  spoke; 
As  soon  as  I  my  gorge  could  choke, 
I  answered:  'This  is  not  your  land, 
And  ne'er  belonged  to  Mexican. 
We  owned  this  land  long  years  ago, 
From  where  the  mountain  rivers  flow- 
To  shores  of  the  vermilion  sea. 
Our  sires  have  always  roamed  it  free, 
And  we  for  it  will  bravely  die, 
Before  we  '11  to  the  mountains  fly. 


8o  Apache-Land. 

"  '  These  lands  were  ours  in  nature's  fee, 
Before  you  whites  e'er  crossed  the  sea. 
Go  back  and  leave  us  here  alone; 
Take  warning  now,  and  quick  be  gone. 
Our  clans  are  countless  in  the  north, 
And  vengeful  soon  will  issue  forth 
To  murder,  rob,  waylay  the  roads, 
And  ambuscade  the  river  fords. 
We  cannot  live  in  mountain  pens; 
Go  back,  and  let  us  yet  be  friends.' 

"  The  haughty  captain  got  in  rage — 
For  he  was  somewhat  under  age — 
Bascomb  by  name — he  drew  his  sword, 
And  without  saying  another  word, 
In  angry  manner,  most  uncouth, 
Struck  me  a  blow  upon  the  mouth. 
The  sentinel  led  me  away 
To  guarded  tent,  at  close  of  day, 
In  silent  darkness  there  to  brood 
On  plans  of  vengeance  and  of  blood. 

"I  sat  amid  the  sighing  trees, 
And  bowed  my  head  upon  my  knees, 
And  knit  my  hands  into  my  cue, 
Where  a  butcher-knife  was  hid  from  view. 
With  this  I  quickly  cut  my  thongs, 
And  straight  prepared  to  right  my  wrongs; 
The  guardsman  shuddered  with  a  start 
As  I  plunged  the  knife  into  his  heart; 
Then,  mounting  horse  at  picket-post, 
Cachise  was  soon  to  vision  lost." 


Apache- Land.  81 

Soon  as  Cachise  had  told  his  tale, 
The  tribe  commenced  a  mournful  wail. 
A  hundred  braves,  or  ninety-nine, 
Were  sadly  missed  in  battle  line. 
The  young  could  scarcely  bend  the  bow, 
The  old  were  too  infirm  to  go; 
The  women,  now  fresh-widowed  wives, 
Began  to  whet  the  butcher  knives. 
Old  Mangus  rose  upon  his  spear, 
Commanding  all  around  to  hear. 

"My  son,"  he  said,  "my  life  is  sped, 
No  more  can  braves  by  me  be  led. 
In  youthful  days  my  lance  drank  gore 
From  Mexicans,  and  cried  for  more; 
A  treacherous  and  a  thieving  race, 
In  whom  kind  pity  finds  no  place. 
Now  these  Americans  have  come 
In  numbers  strong,  to  seal  our  doom; 
But  fight  them  while  a  soul  survives, 
Fight  for  our  homes,  our  sons,  our  wives, 

"Go!  light  the  fires  on  mountain  peaks, 
And  tell  the  chiefs  old  Mangus  speaks; 
In  tongue  of  flame,  the  war  proclaim, 
And  from  each  clan  its  fealty  claim; 
Spread  far  and  wide  the  war  fire-brand, 
From  Colorado  to  Rio  Grande; 
Make  treaty  with  the  Mescal eros,  , 

And  band  with  us  the  Coyoteros; 
Bid  Alexandro  join  our  band, 
And  bring  with  him  his  brave  command. 


82  Apache- Land. 

"Go!  tell  the  brave  Eskiminzin 
To  come  and  join  the  battle's  din; 
Give  notice  to  Mimbrenos  bold, 
To  watch  upon  the  canon's  hold, 
To  ambuscade  the  road's  approaches, 
And  rob  the  overland  mail-coaches; 
The  Tonto  chief,  old  Delashay, 
Must  guard  the  pass's  western  way, 
And  from  the  Casablanca's  mounds 
Must  keep  the  Pimas  within  bounds. 

"Send  message  to  Qua-shack-a-ma, 
The  Yavapai  chief,  to  join  the  war, 
And  even  let  them  go  as  far 
As  Chemihuevis  Espanquya; 
The  wily  scoundrel  may  assist  us, 
If  we  would  dearly  buy  his  sisters; 
The  Mohaves,  Yumas,  Cocopas, 
Are  lost  to  sense  of  honor's  laws, 
And  since  the  trade  in  gold  began, 
Are  panders  to  the  American. 

"The  Navajos  are  brave  and  good; 
In  former  days  they  battle  stood; 
With  lance  in  rest  and  horse  array, 
They  led  the  first  in  wild  foray; 
But  now  they're  fed  on  beef  and  beans, 
Poor  paupers  on  the  stranger's  means; 
Reduced  to  vassalage  and  fear, 
They  dare  not  face  the  pale  face  here, 
Although  our  blood  is  still  the  same, 
For  they  have  only  changed  their  name. 


Apache- Land.  83 

It  boots  us  not  who  comes  or  goes; 
We  '11  fight  to  death  our  nation's  foes. 
Our  tribe  is  twenty  thousand  strong, 
Men  and  women,  old  and  young. 
The  war-cloud  gathers  o'er  my  race; 
I  go  from  hence  to  mount  my  place; 
My  race  is  run,  my  end  has  come. 
In  superstition's  mountain  dome, 
My  spirit  watches  o'er  the  fray, 
And  waits  the  break  of  eternal  day." 

Ten  years  the  war  raged  far  and  wide, 

With  advantage  on  the  Apache  side; 

And  in  this  time  bold  deeds  were  done, 

Which  would  have  honored  Priam's  son. 

No  Homer  sings  Apache  praise; 

No  bard  perpetuates  their  lays. 

The  white  man's  pen,  with  printer's  ink, 

Exalted  deeds  which  fairly  stink. 

The  prince  of  knaves,  and  liars,  and  cowards, 

Was  named  the  last  of  all  the  Howards. 

The  braves  were  out  upon  the  scout, 
The  meal  was  thin,  the  meat  was  out; 
The  winter  passed  in  dismal  gloom; 
Starvation  seemed  to  be  our  doom. 
The  spring  came  on — the  blessed  spring, 
Which  genial  blessings  ought  to  bring; 
But  here  no  cheerful  sounds  at  morn, 
No  men  remain  to  plant  the  corn; 
The  women  wail  their  husbands  lost; 
Who  go  to  war  should  count  the  cost. 


84  Apache- Land. 

Our  means  of  living  all  were  spent; 
My  Pima  maid  and  I  were  sent 
To  strip  the  willows  of  their  leaves, 
And  bind  them  up  in  handy  sheaves; 
To  strip  the  bark  from  off  the  tree, 
And  boil  it  for  Apache  tea. 
The  pulp,  when  beaten  to  a  shred, 
Was  made  in  cakes,  for  Apache  bread. 
So  great  our  hunger  came  at  last, 
'  That  life  was  a  continual  fast. 

We  hid  the  boughs  away  by  stealth, 
As  miser  hoards  his  hidden  wealth, 
And  in  the  day  commenced  to  weave 
A  willow  boat  in  which  to  leave; 
For  only  thus  was  any  hope 
With  Apache  vigilance  to  cope. 
For  any  track  upon  the  land, 
Would  sure  betray  us  to  the  band, 
Who  soon  our  hiding-place  would  find; 
But  water  leaves  no  tracks  behind. 

My  former  knowledge  of  the  sea 
Was  now  the  stead  of  life  to  me; 
We  laid  the  keel  of  willow  pole, 
Then  bent  the  bough  around  the  hold, 
And  firmly  bound  our  tiny  ark 
With  pliant  strips  of  willow  bark; 
Then  caulked  the  bottom  tight  and  neat, 
From    stem  to  stem  with  gum  mesquite; 
And  when  our  boat  the  river  struck. 
She  sat  the  water  like  a  duck. 


Apache-Land.  8  5 

We  launched  her  on  the  broad  Salado, 

As  night  began  to  cast  its  shadow; 

And  guided  her  among  the  shoals, 

With  willing  hands  and  willow  poles. 

All  night  the  river  thundered  on, 

In  narrow  gorge  and  deep  canon; 

Its  rocky  banks  sometimes  so  high, 

That  precipice  shut  out  the  sky. 

The  rapids  were  so  steep  and  narrow, 

The  boat  shot  through  them  like  an  arrow. 

With  speed  so  swift  by  break  of  day, 
The  Apache  camp  was  far  away; 
The  sun  first  sent  its  silver  streaks, 
Astern,  above  the  Chromo  peaks. 
At  noon  we  stopped,  a  rest  to  seek, 
In  debouchure  of  Tonto  creek, 
And  sought  our  hunger  to  appease 
By  eating  bark  from  off  the  trees; 
Of  willow  twigs  we  made  a  net, 
And  sylvan  snare  for  fish  was  set. 

The  mountain  trout  are  very  shy, 

But,  tying  in  the  net  a  fly, 

They  dived,  their  appetite  to  gloat, 

And  next  were  floundering  in  the  boat. 

Let  captious  epicures  decide 

If  fish  are  better  boiled  or  fried; 

But  others  from  experience  draw 

Conclusion  that  they  're  better  raw; 

For  Oriental  travelers  know 

The  Japanese  all  eat  them  so. 


86  Apache- Land. 

The  sun  aslant  his  evening1  streaks 

Was  shedding  westward  of  Four  Peaks, 

When,  following  his  golden  beam, 

We  launched  our  boat  into  the  stream, 

And  soon  again  the  light  of  day 

Was  lost  to  us  in  perils*  way. 

The  canons  high,  stupendous  sides 

The  very  stars  obscure  and  hide; 

A  night  of  such  tremendous  horror, 

We  thought  we  ne'er  should  see  the  morrow. 

The  boat  threw  foam  upon  her  tracks, 
And  danced  along  the  cataracts; 
Then  caught  up  in  the  whirlpool's  swirl, 
Spun  round  and  round  in  giddy  whirl, 
Till  I  and  my  poor  Pima  girl 
Thought  we  had  parted  with  the  world. 
But  God  above  our  lives  ordains; 
To  change  the  plan  is  wrong  and  vain. 
'Tis  all  the  same,  on  sea  or  land — 
We're  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

The  last  chute  through  a  mountain-chain 
Revealed  to  westward,  verdant  plain, 
Where  mountains,  far  as  eye  could  see, 
Rose  up  like  islands  from  the  sea. 
In  the  canon  we  but  saw  the  moon, 
And  on  the  plain  the  sun  marked  noon. 
Enchanted  river,  fare  thee  well, 
Your  gates  are  like  the  jaws  of  hell. 
The  porphyry  columns  tower  on  high, 
Mute  sentinels  against  the  sky. 


Apache- Land.  87 

We  drifted  gently  down  the  stream, 

And  soon  my  soul  began  to  dream 

Of  childhood's  Andalusian   bowers, 

And  scented,  perfumed  Cuban  flowers; 

Was  rocked  upon  the  Spanish  Main, 

The  Chinese  music  heard  again; 

Was  waltzing,  home  at  Arivac, 

In  arms  of  chief  of  old  Tubac; 

And  on  my  satin  pillow  lay, 

And  dreamed  and  dreamed  of  wedding-day. 

A  gentle  touch  upon  my  head, 
My  Pima  maiden  gently  said: 
"See  there,  a  smoke  upon  the  plain; 
We  now  shall  meet  our  friends  again. 
The  Pimas  burn  away  the  brush, 
To  plant  against  the  river's  flush; 
They  here  mayhap  may  have  some  seed, 
To  serve  us  in  our  utmost  need. 
Our  lives  are  safe,  our  freedom  won, 
Let's  kneel  and  glorify  the  sun." 

Again  I  dozed  off  in  a  dream. 
The  Pimas  waded  in  the  stream 
To  where  the  poppies'  flowerets  float, 
And  gently  carried  out  the  boat; 
They  lashed  some  poles  unto  the  sides, 
And  marched  away  with  giant  strides. 
I  thought  again  I  was  on  horse, 
And  scouring  o'er  the  Apache  course, 
The  Indians  following  on  the  plain; 
The  sun  had  nearly  baked  my  brain. 


I  Apache-Land. 

The  Pimas  took  us  in  their  hands, 
Like  good  and  kind  Samaritans; 
Fed  us  with  dainty  chicken  broth, 
And  gave  us  clothes  of  cotton  cloth, 
Of  fiber  woven  by  their  hands, 
From  cotton  raised  upon  their  lands. 
Old  Anton  Azul,  the  chief,  was  dead, 
His  children  knocked  him  in  the  head; 
A  custom  Pima  Indians  have, 
When  decrepit  age  should  seek  the  grave. 

If  ills  afflict  a  male  adult, 

They  call  in  men  of  skill  occult; 

But  woe  to  doctor  if  patient  dies — 

His  physician  tends  him  to  the  skies; 

The  dead  are  buried  in  the  ground, 

And  form  the  bulk  of  Pima  Mound; 

Their  souls  around  the  village  stop, 

To  tend  the  herds  and  watch  the  crop; 

The  Pima  spirits  disenthralled, 

In  Pima  tongue  are  "quetties"  called. 

The  Pima  maids,  like  angel  sisters, 
In  every  way  tried  to  assist  us, 
To  make  our  clothes,  to  comely  dress, 
And  help  us  soon  to  convalesce. 
The  Willow  Leaf,   Hah-wul-hahake, 
Made  me  her  bed  and  board  partake; 
^  Heosick  Nunea,  the  Flower  Singing, 
Was  always  some  little  dainty  bringing; 
The  Branching  Flower,  Mamelot  Heosick, 
Was  nightingale  among  the  sick. 


Apache- Land.  89 

Nea  Volpusz,  the  Running  Song, 

Was  never  absent  from  us  long; 

The  Leaf-Wind,  Hahak  Hersoul, 

Of  mirth  and  laughter  was  the  soul; 

And  Moi-eol,  Nightshade,  Belladonna, 

Proved  woman  was  the  soul  of  honor; 

Oral,  Nishit,  and  Frothy  Waters, 

Were  Pima  matron's  well-trained  daughters; 

The  Singing  Flower,  Nea  Heosick, 

Was  Pine  Flower's  cousin,  Hook  Heosick. 

Vek  Heosick,  the  Feathered  Flower, 
Had  beauty  for  her  native  dower, 
And  Feather  Tassel,  Vek  Molet, 
Was  dark  blue  like  the  violet; 
The  Shady  Leaf,  Tonel  Hahake, 
Helped  others  to  sweet  music  make. 
The  Pima  voice  is  soft  and  sweet, 
The  words  in  songs  they  oft  repeat; 
The  instruments  their  skill  affords, 
Are  made  of  horsehairs  strung  on  gourds. 

The  Plum-like  Damsel,  Vek-e-mos, 

Had  plum-like  cheeks  as  soft  as  moss; 

The  Snowy  Leaves,  Young  Le  Hahok, 

And  Che-hea-pik,  the  Corral  Smoke, 

See-aa-ke-mul,  the  Moving  Rivers, 

Who  made  the  arrows  for  the  quivers; 

The  Bounding  Cloud,  Cheorak  Womoekuf, 

Makes  nearly  Pima  names  enough; 

Though  Bow  Flower,  Kat  Heosick,  and  Cliff  Waters, 

Varu  Susook,  are  Pima  daughters. 


90  Apache-Land. 

While  men  deal  with  affairs  of  state, 
Each  girl's  allowed  to  choose  her  mate; 
If  nature's  charms  fail  to  inspire 
The  burning  flame  of  love's  desire, 
A  candidate  whose 'passed  her  teens 
Resorts  to  artificial  means, 
And  makes  love-powder  of  a  flower — 
"  Flor  de  la  tierra,"  which  has  the  power 
The  wildest  buck  to  fascinate, 
And  bind  in  the  connubial  state. 

The  courtship  shy  'twixt  boy  and  lass 

Is  carried  on  with  looking-glass; 

With  wonderful  finesse  and  tact, 

They  seat  themselves  down  back  to  back; 

And  gesture  love  in  dumb  emotion, 

To  manifest  their  fond  devotion. 

By  smiles  and  amatory  glances, 

Each  suitor  may  divine  his  chances; 

And  when  the  maid  gives  him  the  pass, 

She  blows  her  breat'h  upon  the  glass. 

If  philter,  glass,  and  opiate 
Fail  to  secure  congenial  mate, 
The  Pimas  never  seek  resort 
In  law's  divorce  or  aid  of  court; 
Never  obtrude  domestic  strife, 
Nor  give  to  ridicule  the  wife; 
But  terminate  the  social  bother 
By  making  bargains  with  each  other; 
To  neighbor's  wife  the  question  pop, 
And  make  a  neat  domestic  swap. 


Apache- Land.  9 1 

I    lingered  here  a  month  or  more, 
To  wasted  health  and  strength  restore; 
When  preparations  were  begun, 
To  go  on  homewards  by  Tucson; 
If  home  indeed  the  world  contains 
For  orphan  maid  from  captive  chains/ 
The  Pimas  rigged  my  willow  boat 
As  palanquin,  themselves  to  tote, 
With  serape  of  cotton  spun, 
For  canopy  against  the  sun. 

My  Pima  maid  I  bade   farewell, 
Among  her  kindred  here  to  dwell, 
Where  peace  and  plenty  from  the  land 
Kind  nature  gives  with  lavish  hand. 
If  happiness  on  earth  there  be, 
Those  Pimas  find  it  sans  souci. 
They  worship  as  a  god  the  sun, 
As  his  diurnal  courses  run. 
Without  a  thought,  without  a  care, 
Content  and  peace  are  resting  here. 

A  hundred  horsemen,  armed  with  lance, 
Half  in  rear  and  half  advance, 
Formed  escort  from  Apache  raid, 
And  guarded  home  the  rescued  maid. 
The  starry  flag  was  high  out  thrown, 
From  plaza  staff  of  old  Tucson; 
The  gallants  met  us  on  the  road, 
And  sweet  bouquets  on  us  bestowed; 
The  welcome's  loud  resound  was  rung, 
As  on  Christian  land  again  I  sprung. 


92  '        Apache- Land. 

A  day  of  rest  and  gen'rous  cheer, 
We  then  move  on  to  San  Xavier, 
Where  holy  father  holds  a  mass, 
And  sends  me  message  not  to  pass, 
But  stop  and  render  thanks  to  God, 
And  worship  at  my  mother's  sod. 
These  duties  done,  at  rise  of  sun 
Next  day,  the  journey  home  begun, 
And  evening  sun's  rich  golden  streaks 
Were  gilding  Babaquivera's  peaks. 

His  last  reflected  glimmering  sheen 
"Was  laid  on  Arivaca's  green; 
The  bonfires  lighted  up  the  towers, 
The  fountain  played  upon  the  flowers, 
When  Tubac's  chief,  in  evening  dress, 
Stood  at  the  door,  with  all  his  mess, 
In  accents  cordial,  kind,  and  grave, 
A  hospitable  welcome  gave 
At  very  spot  in  corridor, 
Which  I'll  recall  forevermore. 

"This  place  is  mine  by  law  and  right; 
By  courtesy,  'tis  yours  to-night. 
From  here  you  nevermore  shall  roam; 
Stay  here  with  me;   adorn  this  home; 
And  while  I  have  a  crust  of  bread, 
You  shall  have  where  to  lay  your  head. 
Go  change  your  dress;  your  room  's  prepared, 
Your  toilet  spread,  your  clothes  well  aired; 
Be  quick,  no  longer  tempt  the  fates; 
You  must  be  hungry;  dinner  waits." 


Apache- L  and.  9  3 

The  Tubac  chief  now  holds  the  reins, 

And  works  among  the  silver  veins, 

With  steam  machines  of  pond'rous  weights, 

And  tools  imported  from  the  States. 

His  German  staff  know  how  to  mine, 

From  education  on  the  Rhine; 

Their  science,  skill,  and  shrewd  design 

With  native  labor  here  combine, 

And  in  this  far-off  wilderness 

Make  silver  mines  a  great  success. 

Strange,  pensive  man,  what  brought  him  here  ? 

A  spirit  mild  thrown  out  of  sphere. 

'Twas  not  for  gold  he  sought  this  land — 

He  scatters  that  with  lavish  hand. 

For  honor?     No — from  that  exempt, 

He  bears  mankind  too  much  contempt. 

It  must  be  some  domestic  woe. 

If  this  be  true,  then  leave  it  so; 

A  woman's  mission  on  this  globe 

Is  wounds  to  soothe — not  wounds  to  probe. 

I  know  not,  care  not,  what  it  be, 
I  know  he's  all  the  world  to  me. 
I  ask  no  grace  from  God  nor  man, 
The  soul  is  free,  love  where  it  can. 
No  priestly  hands  can  give  it  ease, 
Much  less  a  justice  of  the  peace. 
The  world  and  I  are  far  apart, 
I  have  no  guide  but  my  own  heart. 
This  mentor  swells  within  my  breast, 
And  softens  when  I  am  caressed. 


94  Apache- Land. 

The  days  and  weeks  and  months  passed  on, 

The  memory  of  sorrow  's  gone. 

The  lotus  leaves  formed  all  our  food, 

We  spent  the  time  in  doing  good. 

No  man  applied  for  work  in  vain, 

No  woman  left  alone  in  pain; 

The  country  'round  for  a  hundred  miles 

Was  clad  in  fortune's  prosperous  smiles; 

The  engines  thundered  night  and  day, 

In  grinding  ores  of  richest  ley. 

A  little  music  now  and  then, 
At  eve  a  gallop  on  the  plain. 
My  mare,  as  white  as  driven  snow, 
Was  trained  in  canter  fast  to  go. 
With  riding-dress  and  snow-white  plume, 
My  health  again  began  to  bloom. 
My  chief  bestrode  a  coal-black  steed 
Of  famous  rancher  Maxwell's  breed. 
"  Tempest "  and  "  Sunshine,"  names  devised 
To  typify  our  checkered  lives. 

A  year  passed  by  as  but  a  day, 
The  flowers  began  to  bloom  in  May; 
My  garden  occupied  my  time, 
My  chief  was  busy  with  the  mine; 
One  day  in  June,  with  clouded  brow 
A  rare  occurrence  with  him  now — 
An  official  paper  in  his  hand, 
Sent  by  the  captain,  in  command 
Of  Fort  Buchanan,  rueful  name, 
Forever  linked  to  nation's  shame. 


Apache- Land.  95 

"My  dear,"  he  said,   "this  paper  says 
Some  things  that  soon  must  part  our  ways; 
The  war-cloud  bursting  in  the  south, 
Has  brought  its  direful  vengeance  forth. 
Old  Twiggs  surrendered  his  command 
In  Texas,  to  the  rebel  band; 
And  Lynde,  upon  the  Rio  Grande, 
Has  made  his  gallant  troops  disband. 
The  flag  in  which  we  put  our  trust, 
Dishonored  now,  trails  in  the  dust. 

"This  order  here,  alas!  proclaims, 
This  country  must  be  given  to  flames, 
And  nothing  left  upon  the  land, 
From  Colorado  to  Rio  Grande, 
Which  can  an  enemy  maintain, 
Or  let  them  food  or  aid  obtain. 
They  fear  a  California  raid, 
And  order  the  road  a  desert  made; 
The  troops  march  out  with  shotted  gun, 
The  flag  first  meets  the  eastern  sun. 

"I  cannot  hold  against  the  tide 
And  clash  of  arms  on  every  side; 
The  Apaches  will  be  down  from  north, 
And  robber  Mexicans  from  south. 
The  people  hear  the  battle  cry, 
And  from  this  waste  begin  to  fly. 
One  hope  remains,  and  only  one, 
And  for  this  you  must  soon  be  gone. 
'Tis  imperative  that  you  should  go 
To  work  our  plans  in  Mexico. 


9  6  Apache- Land. 

"See  Maxmilian;  bribe  Bazaine; 
Join  the  good  Carlotta's  train. 
For  full  ten  million  francs  take  bills; 
The  bank  of  France  our  silver  fills. 
Spread  presents  out  with  lavish    hand, 
Strain  every  nerve  to  hold  our  land. 
Tell  Maxmilian,  one  command 
Can  hold  the  pass  of  Rio  Grande; 
To  Guaymas  let  him  send  gunboats, 
And  here  the  flag  of  empire  floats. 

"Good  Hulsemann  shall  go  with  you; 
He  's  always  been  most  kind  and  true, 
Speaks  every  tongue  beneath  the  sun, 
And  of  my  staff's  the  chosen    one. 
Your  beauty,  since  I  've  won  the    prize, 
May  go  to  dazzle  other  eyes. 
Your  heart,  firm  locked  in  my  embrace, 
Will  scarcely  seek  another  place. 
The  'tempest'  past,  'sunshine'  again, 
We'll  canter  lightly  o'er  the    plain." 

We  parted  at  the  corridor; 

Oh!   when  shall  we  two  meet  once  more? 

That,  God  himself  alone  can  tell; 

I  go  to  do  my  duty  well. 

From  Guaymas'  port  to  Mazatlan 

We  sailed  in  vessel  contraband. 

From  here,  through  land  of  fair  Valencia, 

We  passed  in  country  dilijencia, 

To  where  the  mountain  water  falls 

Round  Montezurna's  ruined  halls. 


Apache- Land.  97 

Great  Cortez  found  an  empire  here, 
On  continent  without  a  peer. 
The  Spaniards  ruled  with  iron  rod, 
And  taught  with  lash  the  love  of  God. 
The  natives,  lashed  to  desperation, 
In  vain  have  tried  to  make  a  nation; 
Their  vengeful  natures  spill  the  blood 
Of  all  who  try  to  do  them  good. 
First  Iturbide's  blood  was  spilled, 
And  Indians  seize  the  place  he  filled. 

Burr's  scheme,  the  next,  was  well  designed — 

Ambition  almost  unconfined. 

But  factions  rampant  in  the  state, 

Forbid  this  should  be  consummate. 

The  English  then,  to  break  Spain's  power, 

Watched  every  point,  and  seized  the  hour 

Of  America's  weakest  President; 

A  diplomatic  message  sent, 

And  Canning's  cunning  doctrine  goes 

Down  history's  gullet  as  Monroe's. 

The  piebald  nations  which  proclaim 
"Republic" — only  so  in  name — 
Are  natural  offspring  of  the  trick 
Which  royalty  imposed  so  slick 
On  Uncle  Sam,  then  but  a  boy, 
And  tickled  with  his  new-found  toy. 
This  hybrid  race  are  like  their  mules — 
Begot  in  breach  of  nature's  rules; 
Which  God  forbids  to  leave  a  trace, 
By  getting  others  of  their  race. 


98  Apache- Land. 

The  great  Scott  came  with  fuss  and  feathers; 

In   Montezuma's  halls  he  tethers, 

And  had  not  very  long  been  there, 

When  he  cries,  "  Help,  to  let  go  this  bear." 

The  Sphinx  of  France,  next,  looked  afar, 

To  guard  against  domestic  war, 

And  give  the  chivalry  of  France, 

At  Mexico,  a  little  chance; 

But  figurehead  for  this  emprise, 

Must  noble  blood  and  name  comprise. 

O'erlooking  Adriatic  Sea, 
If  fairer  scene  on  earth  there  be, 
It  must  be  some  gemmed  crystal  star, 
To  eclipse  the  charms  of  Mir-a-Mar. 
Here  Maximilian  lived  at  peace 
With  all  the  world,  and  took  his  ease. 
The  blood  of  Caesar  through  his  veins, 
(His  brother  Frank  in  Austria  reigns), 
Contented  here  to  reign  supreme; 
With  Charlotte,  life  passed  as  a  dream. 

The  Sphinx  got  Mexicans  to  go 
To  tempt  with  crown  of  Mexico. 
Oh!  man  whose  youth  has  never  read 
That  we  by  toil  must  earn  our  bread, 
Who  has  not  parable  in  mind 
When  Christ  told  Satan  "get  behind?" 
These  lessons,  lost  in  Mir-a-Mar, 
Commenced  history  of  a  fallen  star. 
The  Caesar's  blood  all  scruples  drown, 
And  he  accepts  the  worthless  crown. 


Apache- Land.  99 

Installed  in  Montezuma's  halls, 

He  holds  his  court  and  gives  his  balls. 

The  rabble  shout  with  loud  acclaim, 

Viva  the  Maximilian  name! 

The  dirty  throng,  on  turn  of  flood, 

Will  be  the  first  to  drink  his  blood. 

'Twas  ever  so  from  Christ  till  now, 

With  people  wallowing  in  the  slough; 

And  he  must  drink  the  bitter  cup, 

Who  ever  tries  to  lift  them  up. 

Carlotta's  court  was  pure  and  good; 

An  empress,  every  inch,  she  stood. 

Daughter  of  kings  and  queens  as  well, 

She  was,  of  all  her  courts,  the  belle. 

Her  ladies  mostly  came  from  France, 

To  seek  in  Mexico,  romance, 

And  in  the  German's  dirty  messes 

Some  American  adventuresses; 

But  those  received  most  privily, 

Were  "Belgium's  beauty  and  her  chivalry." 

Bazaine  had  quite  his  fortune  made 
By  wedding  wealthy  native  maid, 
Whose  sympathy  at  once  came  forth 
To  young  ambassadress  from  the  north; 
And  through  her  genuine  support 
I  received  the  entree  into  court, 
And  began  to  play  my  woman's  part 
To  work  the  plans  I  had  at  heart. 
I  gave  Bazaine  a  million  francs, 
Which  he  politely  took,  "with  thanks." 


ioo  Apache- Land. 

He  promised  troops  should  issue  forth 

To  take  possession  of  the  north. 

The  "Corps  Belgique  "  was  sent  that  way, 

But  only  served  to  draw  their  pay. 

They  stopped  along  to  drink  their  wine, 

And  never  tried  to  cross  the  line. 

The  French  troops  lingered  in  each  town, 

Where  cards  and  absinthe  most  abound. 

The  Emperor's  rival,  bold  Bazaine, 

Spoiled  all  by  his  desire  to  reign. 

The  Empress  listened  to  my  plaint, 
And  soothed  me  like  a  very  saint. 
"My  child,"  she  said,  "come  live  with  me, 
And  I  will  like  a  mother  be. 
I  need  one  faithful  friend  at  hand, 
Not  native  of  this  treacherous  land, 
And  yet  with  tongue  and  face  extern 
That  sharpest  spy  cannot  discern; 
And  more,  I  need  myself  about 
One  who  with  gold  cannot  be  bought." 

The  empire  spread  from  sea  to  sea, 

Its  flag  protected  bond  and  free; 

And  Maximilian  was  elate 

A  nation  to  regenerate. 

One  traitor  thwarted  all  his  plans, 

Controlled  his  court,  and  tied  his  hands. 

The  Empress  saw  it  very  plain. 

A  rule  like  this  was  all  in  vain; 

To  rend  this  knot,  the  only  chance 

Was  that  she  quickly  go  to  France. 


Apache- Land.  101 

Again  upon  the  treach'rous  sea, 

With  ample  escort,  I  and  she. 

In  France  her  grandsire  ruled,  a  king; 

She  comes  a  suppliant  now,  to  bring 

An  Emperor's  supplication  near 

The  throne  of  one  who  cannot  hear 

Unless  self-interest  whets  his  ear. 

The  stone  in  Egypt 's  not  more  dumb, 

The  Sphinx  itself  is  not  more  glum, 

Than  Bonapartes  when  Hapsburgs  come. 

We  saw  the  cortege  rolling  out, 
And  heard  the  dirty  rabble  shout 
"Vive  1'Empereur!" — from  palace-yard, 
Along  the  gay-thronged  boulevard. 
The  Sphinx  sat  in  his  coach  of  state; 
Beside  him  sat  his  handsome  mate. 
Isis,  Osiris,  Nilus'   gods, 
O'er  whom  old  hoary  Egypt  nods, 
Transplanted  here,  less  out  of  place 
Than  Corsican  and  Spanish  race. 

The  Empress,  crushed  with  her  defeat, 
Could  neither  now  nor  sleep  nor  eat; 
Resolved  to  try  another  chance, 
And  see  the  greatest  man    in  France — 
Thiers  had  served  her  grandsire  well — 
And  if  mortal  man  could  tell 
The  way  to  make  Bazaine  disgorge, 
'Twas  Wizard  of  the   Place  St.  George, 
For  here  long  dwelt  the  State  coquette, 
Corner  Rue  Notre  Dame  de  Lorette. 


IO2  Apache- Land. 

I  went  with  her  to    Monsieur  Thiers; 
He  was  greatly  moved  by  Charlotte's  tears: 
"My  child,  I  loved  your  grandsire   well; 
He  neglected  my  advice  and  fell. 
Now  this  affair  of  Mexico 
Gives  Napoleon's  empire  its  last  blow; 
He  dances  on  a  floor  of  glass; 
This  empire  soon  away  must  pass. 
Recall  your  husband  from  afar, 
And  seek  your  home  at  Miramar." 

My  noble  mistress,  crushed  with  grief, 
In  floods  of  tears  sought  some  relief. 
"My  child,"  she  said,  "one  only  hope, 
And  that  to  go  and  see  the   Pope. 
The  Holy  Father  sure  must  know 
The  need  of  saving  Mexico. 
Three  hundred  years  a  Christian  land, 
He   must  not  yield  it  to  the   band 
Of  outlaws  under  Juarez's  flag; 
The  Pope  must  issue  forth  his  gag." 

I  wrote  my  chief  a  full  account 
Of  what  I  here  give  dim  recount, 
And  sent  it,  when  I  had  it  done, 
By  fastest  mail  to  Washington, 
In  case  they'd  forced  him  to  succumb, 
And  to  the  capital  he'd  come. 
We  had  no  other  care  in  France; 
The  Pope  was  now  our  only  chance, 
Where  flag  of  Christ  was  high  unfurled, 
Vicegerent  of  the  Christian  world. 


Apache-Land.  103 

In  France,  the  spies  around  us  crept; 
The  "  Mouchards  "  watched  our  every  step. 
"Liberte,  Egalite,  Fraternite" — bah! 
These  only  live  in  English  law, 
Where  Queen  and  subject,  each  in  place, 
Form  highest  type  of  human  race. 
We  passed  through  tunnel  Mont  Cenis, 
And  reached  the  plains  of  Italy, 
The  fairest  land    the  sun  shone  on; 
Her  sons  undying  fame  have  won. 

Arrived  in  Rome,  Saint  Peter's  home, 
Where  Pio  Nino  holds  the  dome 
Of  Angelo,  till  Christ  shall  come. 
All  creeds  pass  by  like  filthy  dross; 
This  creed  is  founded  on  the  cross 
Which  Jesus,  in  his  anguish,  bore 
To  save  the  world  for  evermore. 
With  faith  and  hope  divine — supernal, 
He  linked  him  to  the  world — fraternal, 
That  we  should  enter  life  eternal. 

Established  in  our  rooms  of  state, 
I  next  upon  my  bankers  wait. 
A  messenger,  with  profound  salaam, 
Hands  me  a  cable  telegram: 

'•WASHINGTON,  April  15,1867. 

'ANITA,  care  of  EYRE  &  MATTINI,  Bankers,  Rome: 

"  See  Giulia  Antonetti,  14  Montebello.     She  will  introduce  you  to  Baroness 
,  Antonelli's  mistress.     Lavish  money.     Hope — Pope. 


"4-15.     Pd.  CHIEF.' 


IO4  Apache-Land. 

This  Giulia  lived  upon  a  street 
Where  evening  promenaders  meet, 
And  Roman  lovers  there  arrange 
Their  salutations  to  exchange. 
A  little  girl  at  window  sat, 
Each  passing  carriage  gazing  at, 
And  when  the  Cardinal  passed  by, 
The   child  would  always  "Papa"  cry. 
The  Antonetti  was  passe, 
"Ancien  maitresse,"  the  French  would  say. 

A  little  billet  of  exchange — 
Convenient  medium  to  arrange 
A  meeting  with  the  Baroness, 
And  left  with  Giulia  my  address. 
The  Baroness  spoke  Spanish  well, 
Though  what  her  race  I  could  not  tell.] 
Accomplished  much  in  every  art, 
She  gave  the  Cardinal  her  heart. 
She  promised  at  an  early  day 
Assistance  meet  to  pave  the  way. 

The  Antonetti's  courtly  grace 

Excelled  all  courtly  Latin  race; 

In  tones  as   gentle  as  a  child, 

He  soothed  my  fears  in  accents  mild, 

And  gave  assurance  doubly  sure, 

The  Pope  would  all  dissensions  cure, 

And  teach  the  upstart  Bonaparte 

A  lesson  that  would  wring  his  heart; 

He  pocketed  a  million  francs, 

And  took  his  leave  with  "gracious  thanks. 


Apache-Land.  105 

The  Pope  appointed  soon  a  day 
To  have  his  ushers  clear  the  way 
To  give  the  Empress  audience, 
And  receive  her  due  obedience. 
When  seated  robed  in  Peter's  chair, 
He  deigns  all  mortal   plaints  to  hear; 
Counsels  faith,  and  hope,  and  charity, 
And  virtue  of  Christian  rarity — 
Only  through  him  are  sins  forgiven; 
He  holds  the  very  keys  of  heaven. 

The  Empress   fell  at  Pius'  feet, 
And  poured  her  plaint  in  tones  so  sweet 
That  Christ  himself,  had   he  been  here, 
Must  needs  in  pity  shed  a  tear. 
She  told  her  noble  husband's  wrongs: 
How  he  was  bound  in  Bazaine's  thongs- 
How  Maximilian  went  for  good — 
How  he  and  she  had  noble  blood— 
What  plans  they  made  on  high  to  hoist 
In  Mexico  the  cross  of  Christ. 

'My  daughter,  earth's  of  no  avail; 
I  must  the  truth  to  you  unveil: 
Your  noble  husband's  dead!     On  high 
His  soul  reposes  in  the  sky; 
Intent  alone  on  doing  good, 
The  Mexicans  have  shed  his  blood." 
A  shriek,  that  Peter's  dome  had  riven, 
Ascended  to  the  gates  of  heaven; 
A  soul  the  best  God  can  create, 
Has  gone  to  heaven  to  join  its  mate. 


io6  Apache- Land. 

The  mind's  the  soul.     When  this  departs, 

Clay  only  forms  the  grosser  parts. 

The  ethereal  spirit  comes  from  God; 

It  never  rests   beneath  the  sod. 

In  prison-house  but  for  a  day, 

The  soul  oft  longs  to  fly  away; 

To  shake  away  the  carnal  dust, 

And  meet  the  spirits  of  the  just; 

To  mount  to  heaven's  distant  blue, 

And  get  the  last  eternal  view. 

In  Schoenbrunn's  noble  palace  walls, 
In  Francis  Joseph's  ancestral  halls, 
'Mid  flowers,  trees,  and  shrubbery  hid, 
My  mistress  lies  an  invalid. 
The  Austrian  flag  bears  o'er  the  sea 
What  yet  of  Hapsburg's  son  there  be, 
To  rest  beneath  the  lofty  spire 
Of  Kaiser's  tomb  in  St.  Sophia, 
Where  mausoleums  of  kingly  great 
Repose  in  dim,  sepulchral  state. 

His  hatchment  hung, 
His  requiem  sung, 
We  seek  another  change  of  scene, 
And  start  for  famed  Ardennes  green, 
When  Belgian  lion  rears  his  head 
Above  the  mound  of  honored  dead, 
Who  fighting,  sturdy,  brave,  and  true, 
Gave  up  their  lives  at  Waterloo; 
Pointing  his  dexter  arm  at  France — 
Mute  warning  'gainst  an  armed  advance. 


Apache-Land.  107 

* 
The  Guelphs  here  hold  their  regal  court, 

In  Belgium's  capital  and  fort ; 
The  sister  of  the  reigning  king 
Comes  home  a  broken  heart  to  bring, 
Where  cannon  thundered  at  her  birth, 
And  she  was  blessed  with  all  of  earth. 
The  sight  of  Laaken's  palace  wood 
May  do  the  stricken  sufferer  good; 
For  here  she  played  a  little  child, 
When  Nature  all  around  her  smiled. 

In  Brussels  once  I  met  a  friend 
Who  stayed  in  Mexico  to  the  end. 
His  mission  there  was  education — 
The  last  hope  for  regeneration. 
A  protege  of  the  house  of  Coburg, 
The  Abbe  Seur  Brasseur  de  Bourbourg. 
He  was  Maxmilian's  court  librarian — 
A  famous  Aztec  antiquarian. 
I  sought  advice  from  his  strong  mind, 
A  father's  aid  and  counsel  kind. 

He  said:    All  was  lost  of  temporal  power, 

But  Mexico  was  Mary's  dower; 

And  no  earthly  power  should  wrest  away 

The  richest  gem  in  the  Church's  lay; 

That  Jesuit  Order  was  ordained 

To  see  that  Mary's  rights  were  gained; 

That  Father  Beckh,  a  priest  discreet, 

Now  filled  the  great  Loyola's  seat; 

That  he  was  now  in  Belgic  land 

Arranging  a  Western  propagand. 


io8  Apache-Land. 

That  Mexico  was  not  the  whole: 

America  was  now   the  goal. 

The  United  States  had  equal  laws, 

Which  were  beneficial  to  the  cause; 

Enabling  them,  by  education, 

No  doubt,  ere  long,  to  rule  the  nation, 

For  each  political  dispute 

Advantage  gives  to  the  astute; 

Then  as  crusaders  we  will  go, 

And  repossess  our  Mexico. 

Some  Belgian  nuns  were  about  to  start, 
From  Convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
By  German  Lloyds'  ship  "  Pomona," 
To  open  schools  in  Arizona! 
Mother  Emerantia  was  lady  superior, 
Accompanied  by  ten  inferior 
Sisters — Hyacinth,  Maximus,  Ambrosia, 
Monica,  Martha,  Mary,  Euphrasia, 
Lucretia,  Francesca  and  Irene; 
And  I'm  called  Sister  Seraphine. 

The  Abbe  thought  this  was  my  chance; 
There's  nothing  more  to  do  in  France, 
And  nothing  can  be  done   in  Rome; 
The  Imperial  troops  are  ordered  home 
At  bid  of  the  Republic  North, 
Which  from  the  civil  war  came  forth 
Like  giant  who  has  tried  his  strength, 
And  found  it  equal  to  his  length. 
It  stands  colossal  on  two  seas, 
And  fears  not  foreign  enemies. 


Apache-Land.  109 

We   soon  arrived  in  fair  New  York, 
And  paid  our  dues  to  Central  Park. 
When  driving  through  the  upper  part 
To  Convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 
And  while  the  party  rested  here, 
I  made  a  visit  far  more  dear, 
And  went,    accompanied    by  a   nun, 
To  seek  my  chief  in  Washington. 
He  was  to  Arizona  gone, 
And  I  returned  both  sad  and  lone. 

Another  voyage  on  the   sea — 

God  grant  it  be  the  last  for  me. 

The  old  familiar  southern  star 

Shone  brightly  over  Panama; 

The  steamers  still  were  wont  to  go 

Along  the  coast  of  Mexico. 

We  passed  in  sight  of  old    St.  Luke, 

And  Sonora-land  without  a  duke, 

In  safety  landing  men  and  freight, 

In  city  of  the  Golden  Gate. 

Our  mission  first  was  Santa  Clara, 
To  get  the  Bishop  to  prepare 
Instructions  for  our  journey  on 
To  Arizona  and  Tucson. 
Our  party  here  received  addition, 
Two  Jesuit  fathers  from  the  Mission — 
Father  Bosco,  a  native  Frenchman, 
The  Italian  Messia  was  his  henchman. 
The  Jesuits  always  work  in  pairs, 
The  inferior  blind  obedience  swears. 


no  Apache-Land. 

Again  on  sea  we  are  afloat, 

To  Los  Angeles  by  coastwise  boat; 

To  Yuma,  hence,  a  hundred  leagues 

Of  desert,  man  and  beast  fatigues. 

The  ambulance  out  here  is  used 

(The  name  it  bears  somewhat  confused) 

For  transportation  on  the  plains, 

On  deserts,  and  o'er  mountain  chains. 

In  this  conveyance  we  took  our  seat, 

And  sailed  along  with  the  desert  fleet. 

The  desert's  glimmering  mirage 

Is  likened  only  to  the  Taj, 

In  India  raised  'tween  earth  and  sky, 

An  architectural  mystery: 

A  fleet  of  ships  before  our  eyes, 

Half-way  between  the  earth  and  skies; 

Their  canvas  spread  with  purple  clouds, 

Their  flags  all  waving  in  the  shrouds; 

Then  from  our  vision  swift  they  flee 

Like  navy  swallowed  up  at  sea. 

Then  next  a  palace  railway  train 
With  flying  banners  scours  the  plain, 
The  snowy  kerchiefs  waving  out 
The  windows;    but  we  hear  no  shout. 
Then  just  before  a  sea  of  glass 
Obstructs  the  way,  and  stops  the  pass; 
And  on  the  other  side  the  plain 
Comes  moving  down  another  train, 
Just  like  our  own,  to  meet  our  own. 
A  moment — sea  and  train  are  gone. 


TJSI7BRSIT7 


Apache-Land.  1 1 1 

A  night  passed  on  the  desert  gives 
Impression  deep  while  mem'ry  lives. 
The  sun  sinks  in  a  sea  of  sand, 
And  stillness  settles  o'er  the  land. 
The  amber  moon  rides  in  the  sky 
Clothed  in  the  desert's  panoply. 
The  stars  which  lighten  other  lands, 
Here  fairly  phosphorate  the  sands. 
Such  silence  to  the  desert's  given, 
A  whisper  here  would  reach  to  heaven. 

Arrived  on  Colorado's  banks, 
We  held  a  mass  and  rendered  thanks. 
This  turbid  river  issues  forth 
From  mystic  canons  of  the  north, 
Where  Spaniards  centuries  ago 
With  wonder  saw  its  waters  flow 
Two  thousand  varas  'neath  the  brink. 
Wrhile  perishing  for  some  to  drink, 
They  followed  it  three  hundred  miles 
By  precipice,  through  Indian  wilds. 

Fort  Yuma  now  stands  on  the  hill 

Where  Gila's  brighter  waters  fill 

The  Colorado's  muddy  bank, 

Just  opposite  the  soldiers'  tank, 

'Twas  built  on  site  of  Yuma  land 

By  brave  old  General  Heintzelman. 

On  the  other  side,  on  sandy  ground, 

My  chief  with  him  laid  out  a  town  ;  * 

But  neither  now,  from  squatter  band, 

Can  claim  a  single  foot  of  land. 


112  Apache-Land. 

The  Yumas  live  in  this  precinct, 
A  race  of  Indians  near  extinct. 
The  white  man's  presence  does  no  good; 
They  sell  them  rum  for  firewood, 
Which  steamboat-owners  have  to  buy, 
For  boats  that  on  the  river  ply. 
The  women  lounge  about  the  post; 
The  prettiest  ones  are  soonest  lost : 
But  this  is  somewhat  delicate  matter — 
The  less  we  say  of  it,  the  better. 

While  camped  upon  the  river's  bank, 

A  Yuma  girl  in  illness  sank, 

And  gave  her  gentle  spirit  up 

From  contact  with  the  poisoned  cup. 

The  chief  came  kindly  to  invite 

Our  party  to  the  funeral  rite. 

The  pyre  was  raised  of  mesquite  wood; 

At  head  of  tomb  the  old  chief  stood; 

The  maid  was  stretched  upon  the  pyre, 

Which  soon  was  wreathed  by  tongues  of  fire. 

Her  young  companions  stood  around, 
Their  sorrow  not  evinced  by  sound, 
But  actions,  louder  far  than  words, 
Proved  their  sincere  and  deep  regards ; 
Each  took  some  article  of  dress — 
A  handkerchief  or  bead  necklace — 
Some  token  of  their  childish  games, 
And  with  their  sorrow  fed  the  flames. 
All  worldly  treasures  now  they  spurn; 
In  silent  sadness  thus  they  mourn. 


Apache-Land.  1 1 3 

The  Yumas  are  a  stalwart  race, 
Erect  in  form  and  fair  in  face. 
A  full  six  feet  the  men  would  beat, 
From  tip  to  toe,  in  stocking-feet — 
That  is,  if  they  but  stocking's  wore  ; 
But  this  incumbrance  they  ignore  ; 
And  custom  also  kindly  grants 
Unmentionable  lack  of  pants. 
Like  other  men  who're  better  bred, 
They  mostly  cultivate  the  head. 

The  river  brings  at  highest  flood 

A  sediment  like  Nilus'  mud, 

Enriching  all  it  overflows ; 

The  Yuma's  pumpkin  crop  then  grows. 

In  Congress  once,  to  help  these  toilers, 

My  chief  got  a  hundred  thousand  dollars, 

To  make  in  Colorado's  val,  % 

An  irrigating  canal. 

The  coin  was  in  California  spent 

By  a  brother-in-law  of  the  President. 

This  sediment  the  Yumas  spread 
In  plaster  thick  upon  the  head, 
Their  dirty,  long,  black  hair  to  scour, 
And  make  "coif  a  la  Pompadour/' 
'Tis  said  it  long  preserves  the  hair 
From  turning  gray  by  age's  wear; 
Serves  for  a  helmet  in  campaign; 
From  sun  protects  the  Yuma  brain. 
Another  thing  not  quite  so  nice, 
It's  sure  to  kill  the — well,  not  rice. 


H4  Apache-Land. 

In  early  days  the  women's  dress 

Was  famous  for  its  pliantness. 

A  cord  between  two  trees  was  placed, 

And  tied  to  measure  round  the  waist ; 

Then  inner  bark  of  cottonwood, 

In  ribbons  long1,  and  strong,  and  good, 

Was  doubled  on  the  rope  and  tied, 

The  middle  part  made  treble  wide; 

For  women's  tastes  are  all  the  same 

In  Yuma  maid  or  Paris  dame. 

The  cord  then  tied  around  the  waist, 
The  Yuma  girl  is  quickly  drest. 
Her  sylvan  silk  floats  in  the  breeze, 
And  does  not  reach  below  the  knees; 
Impartial,  too,  above  the  waist 
Her  charms  are  left  as  Nature  graced; 
Then  of  her  new-made  costume  proud, 
She  struts  about  among  the  crowd, 
As  every  man  must  have  a  notion, 
The  very  "poetry  of  motion." 

But  civilization's  changed  all  this; 
The  flowing  costume  now  you'll  miss. 
Red  figured  calico,  grotesquer, 
Supplants  the  undulating  fresco, 
Reaching  above  and  below  the  knees. 
The  women  lie  and  take  their  ease, 
Exalted  now  above  their  sphere; 
As  is,  perhaps,  the  case  elsewhere. 
They  flirt,  cajole,  coquet,  and  wheedle 
While  men  sit  by  and  ply  the  needle. 


1 1 6  Apache-Land. 

The  Cocopas  live  near  the  mouth. 
They  have  no  rains,  and  yet  no  drouth. 
In  huts  of  tule,  firmly  tied, 
They  rise  and  fall  upon  the  tide. 
Amphibious,  as  their  name  implies, 
They  live  in  water  with  gnats  and  flies. 
Outlandish  here  they  live  on  fish, 
And  spend  a  life  somewhat  rakish: 
In  dissipation,  cards,  and  sloth, 
Dressed  in  a  little  cotton  cloth. 

Returned  from  visit  to  the  tide, 
We  anchored  on  the  other  side; 
Just  where  the  river's  delta  falls, 
Below  the  Mission  of  St.  Pauls; 
Where  Spanish  priests  in  early  days 
Taught  Yumas  how  to  sing  God's  praise. 
But  they,  perhaps  for  want  of  brains, 
Killed  all  the  priests  to  reward  their  pains. 
We  might  go  north,  to  the  north  pole; 
But  up  the  Gila  is  our  role. 

The  map  then  had  not,  what  a  pity! 

Been  dignified  by  Gila  City, 

Reminding  of  the  City  of  Peth, 

Where  one  man  lived,  two  starved  to  death. 

Our  first  night  was  in  ''Mission  Camp," 

Where  the  river-bed  was  somewhat  damp; 

For  in  former  travels  here  I  found 

The  rivers  all  run  under  ground. 

This  is  a  land  of  contradictions, 

Involving  one  in  endless  fictions. 


Apache-Land.  117 

This  camp  was  named  for  the  commission 

In  early  days  sent  on  a  mission, 

When  emigration  first   begun, 

The  nation's  boundary  to  run, 

Where  Gila's  waters  ought  to  flow 

Between  the  States  and  Mexico. 

The  commissary  stores  ran  out, 

The  Com.  himself  was  not  about 

(In  writing  always  omit  the  Com.), 

They  broke  up  camp  and  started  home. 

Filibuster  Camp  next  we  reach, 

This  camp  can  moral  lessons  teach: 

Some  brave,  strong  men,  long   years  ago, 

From  here  invaded  Mexico, 

On  promise  made  to  them  by  greasers, 

That  they  \vould  fight  like  very  Caesars 

To  make  republic  in  Sonora. 

They  met  a  death  both  swift  and  gory. 

From  this  a  useful  lesson  learn; 

'Twixt*  whites  and  greasers  quick  discern. 

\Ve  next  pass  peak  of  Antelope, 
Where  road  with  river  has  to  cope; 
Where  once,    in  happy  days  gone  by, 
The  harmless  antelope  could  fly 
From  plains  into  the  river's  brink, 
To  quench  its  thirst  with  Gila's  drink; 
Where  mountain  goats  on  high  could  roam, 
Surveying  all  around  their  home. 
Now  antelope  or   mountain  goat 
That  venture  here  must  risk  a  shot. 


1 1 8  Apache- Land. 

A  long1,  dry  ride,  and  longer  walk, 

From  here  to  next  place — Camp  Mohawk. 

Arriving  at  this  misplaced  name, 

We  found  the  scenery  rather  tame, 

And  turned  around  to  take  a  view 

Of  scenery  passed,  ere  entering  new. 

The  Castle  Dome  looms  in  the  north, 

Like  giant  desert  behemoth, 

And  western  sun  the  vision  thrills 

O'er  Yuma's  gold  and  purple  hills. 

On  south,  the  tenaja  alta  reigns, 
The  western  boundary  of  the  plains, 
Whose  tanks,  formed  out  of  solid  rock, 
In  summer  held  the  only  stock 
Of  water  in  a  hundred  miles; 
Whose  serried  edges  and  defiles 
Accessible  to  mountain  goat, 
Or  Mexicans  who  water  tote 
In  leathern  botas  on  long  drives, 
In  desert  lands  to  save  their  lives. 

Next,  Texas  Hill  looms  on  the  plain. 
Its  summit  we  will  never  gain, 
Nor  base  of  scoria  can  surround, 
Grim  remnant  of  volcanic  mound,, 
Forbidding,  black,  and  desert  ground. 
What  tales  of  horror  here  abound! 
Fit  place  to  murder  and  to  rob; 
The  devil  superintends  the  job. 
He  has  not  far  away  to  roam, 
For  this  looks  like  his  very  home. 


Apache-Land,  1 1 9 

The  teamsters'  camp  we  next  approach, 
And  meet  an  overland  stage-coach, 
With  mails  and  passengers,  and  news, 
A  desert  treat  which  all  diffuse; 
Like  ships  when  passing  close  at  sea, 
The  desert  has  its  courtesy. 
A  laguna  on  the  southern  bank 
Forms  convenient  rendezvous  and  tank 
For  bathing  in  the  summer  day, 
When  train  in  hot  noontide  must  stay. 

At  Stanwix  Camp,  we  crossed  the  stream 
To  make  a  visit,  like  a  dream, 
Upon  a  fair  Apache  girl, 
Of  all  her  tribe  the  very  pearl; 
Who  had  abandoned  her  own  race 
To  nestle  here  with  a  pale-face. 
These  two  alone  lived  here  alone, 
And  bid  the  robber  Time  begone, 
Not  counting  year,  nor  month,  nor  sun, 
And  caring  for  no  other  one. 

Agua  Caliente,  in  Spanish  called; 

A  spring  that  healed  e'en  those  who  crawled 

To  bathe  their  limbs  in  its  warm  waters; 

For  years  used  by  Apache  daughters, 

As  Indian  maidens'  charm  divine 

To  make  their  skin  as  velvet  fine. 

The  old,  wild  feeling  came  again 

To  strip  and  plunge  me  in  the  bain, 

And  there  in  bath,  like  two  giours, 

Marie  and  I  talked  on  for  hours. 


I2O  Apache- Land. 

We  talked  of  old  Apache  camp, 

And  things  that  sounded  rather  damp 

To  ears  polite  from  Europe's  courts, 

So  different  from  Apache  sports; 

Of  wars  and  all  of  war's  alarms; 

Of  Apache  wrongs,  Apache  harms; 

Of  wedded  life,  and  how  it  went, 

And  how  the  days  and  nights  were  spent; 

And  last,  not  least,  to  assuage  my  grief, 

I  asked  Marie  about  my  chief. 

She  said  he'd  come  with  high  commission 
To  settle  the  Indians'  condition, 
And  passed  along  the  Gila  way, 
With  train  and  troops  in  grand  array; 
Had  called  to  talk  with  her  and  G. 
About  old  times,  perhaps  'bout  me; 
That  tales  came  down  the  river  road 
Of  quarrels  high,  and  strife,  and  blood, 
And  great  dissensions  among  the  whites 
About  the  cause  of  Indian  rights; 

That  new  men  came  to  make  more  bother, 
Knew  not  one  Indian  from  another; 
That  afterwards  she  heard  from  Burks 
By  one  of  Col.  King  Woolsey's  clerks: 
He'd  gone  down  the  road  in  angry  mood, 
And  left  the  place  at  last  for  good; 
E'en  had  not  called  in  passing  by, 
To  pay  salutes,  or  say  good-by. 
I  turned  away  at  this  surprise, 
Suspended  talk,  and  washed  my  eyes. 


Apache-Land.  121 

I  lay  musing  in  the  limpid    bath, 
Upon  life's  strange  and  winding  path; 
My  hair  down — flowing  to  my  waist, 
My  heaving  bosom  to  embrace. 
The  buoyant  water  exposed  to  view 
My  rounded  limbs,  and  shadows  threw, 
Pellucid  twins,  into  the  stream, 
Wrhich  washed  away  life's  dearest  dream. 
I  robed  my  heavy  bosoms'  swell, 
And  bade  Marie  a  kind  farewell. 

We  crossed  the  river  at  Burks's  ford, 
And  passed  along  the  mesa  road, 
To  where  a  hollow  on  the  plat 
The  history  marks  of  Oatman  Flat. 
In  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-two 
A  traveler  could  have  had  this  view: 
An  emigrant  struggling  up  the  hill, 
His  wife  and  children  the  wagon  fill. 
The  Tontos  following  on  his  track, 
The  moment  seized  for  fierce  attack. 

The  husband's  brains  soon  strew  the  road, 
The  wife  and  children  dead  are  strewed; 
Save  two  girls,  whose  lives  are  saved, 
And  Indian  captives  they  are  made. 
A  boy  left  for  dead  upon  the  road, 
Was  found  by  Pimas   who  that  way  rode, 
And  nursed  by  these  Samaritans 
(Who  are  falsely  called  barbarians), 
With  tenderness  and  care  quite  human, 
Till  he  was  fit  to  send  to  Yuma. 


122  Apache- L  and. 

The  girls  were  carried  to  the  north, 

From  whence  the  Tonto  band  came  forth, 

To  mountains  where  the  mixed  tribes  range, 

And  in  course  of  time,  by  fair  exchange, 

From  desert  plains  and  beds  of  lava, 

To  richer  valley  of  Mohave, 

Where,  as  Indian  vague  tradition  saith, 

The  younger  one  succumbed  to  death. 

Her  sister  Olive  feared  her  knell, 

But  she  was  rescued  by  Grinnell. 

A  grave  in  sad  and  lonely  place, 
A  little  fence  of  stones  embrace — • 
Made  by  some  voyagers  on  the  plains — • 
All  that  was  found  of  their  remains. 
The  scene  accorded  with  my  heart : 
Each  plays  in  life  his  fated  part ; 
In  desert  lands  some  find  their  graves, 
And  some  in  death  the  deep-sea  laves. 
My  contemplation's  rather  blue, 
For  I  have  been  a  captive  too. 

The  Painted  Rocks  claim  notice  next, 
All  covered  o'er  with  Indian  text, 
In  hieroglyphic  bows  and  clubs, 
To  pose  some  antiquarian  Stubbs  ; 
But  versed  somewhat  in  Indian  lore 
From  education  heretofore, 
I  read  the  signs  as  treaties  made 
By  tribes,  each  other  not  to  raid. 
From  Yuma  lands  to  Pima's  mound, 
'Tis-  monumental  half-way  ground. 


Apache- Land.  123 

Arrived  at  last  at  Gila  bend, 

Our  river  journey  comes  to  end. 

'Tis  wise  to  stop  here  wheels  to  tauter, 

To  rest,  and  fill  the  cans  with  water, 

And  prepare  the  mules  the  trip  to  stand 

O'er  Maricopa  Desert's  sand. 

'Tis  forty  miles,  or  forty-five, 

To  where  a  human  being  can  live; 

And  as  there's  always  ample  light, 

'Tis  best  to  cross  it  in  the  night. 

The  Maricopa  wells  we  gain, 
And  turn  to  graze  the  weary  train; 
For  here  in  peace  and  calm  content 
The  Maricopas  lives  are  spent. 
A  people  stalwart,  brave,    and  frank, 
Driven  from  Colorado's  bank 
By  intestine  wars,  long  years  ago, 
They  here  in  peace  and  plenty  sow — 
A  kind  of  desert  fringe  cedemous, 
Affiliated  with  the  Pimas. 

The  women  friendly,  full  of  humor, 
Were  somewhat  darker  than  the  Yuma; 
Wore  cotton  strips  around  the  waist — 
I  judge  they  are  not  very  chaste. 
The  men,  a  brave  and  honest  race, 
Stalwart  in  form  and  strong  in  face. 
The  chief,  among  them  greatest  man, 
Came  with  a  paper  in  his  hand, 
Unfolded  from  a  buckskin  roll, 
And  stood  for  us  to  read  the  scroll. 


124  Apache- Land. 


UNITED  STATES  SUPERINTENDENCY  OF  INDIAN  AFFAIRS 
FOR  ARIZONA. 

JANUARY  10,  1864. 

This  is  to  certify  that  Juan  Chivarea  is  the  recognized  captain  and  chief  of 
the  MARICOPA  tribe  of  Indians.  All  officers  and  citizens  of  the  United  States 
are  respectfully  requested  to  treat  him  as  such.  ^ — - 

CHARLES  D.  POSTON,  (  Seal  { 

Superintendent.  *• — ** 


From  here  above  for  twenty  miles 
The  Pima  cultivation  smiles. 
You  do  not  see  it  by  the  road; 
The  river's  bank  is  their  abode. 
Arrived  at  Pima  Agent's  Station, 
A  little  time  for  purification. 
I  was  rejoiced  here  to  find 
Heh-wul-vopuey,  the  Running  Wind; 
My  maid,  my  sister,  captive  friend. 
We  embrace  again  before  the  end. 

Along  the  river  bank  we  walked, 

And  talked,  and  talked,  oh,  how  we  talked! 

'Twas  doubtful  which  was  greatest  talker. 

She  told  me  she  was  Mrs.  Walker; 

That  a  young  and  good  American 

Had  come  among  the  tribe  to  train 

The  young  idea  how  to  shoot, 

And  had  won  her  hand,  and  heart  to  boot. 

She  was  happy  as  the  day  was  long, 

And  always  thought  the  world  was  young. 


Apache-Land.  125 

The  agent  here,  old  Ammie  White, 
Gave  us  a  comfortable  night. 
He  spread  our  beds  with  Pi  ma  quilts, 
And  walked  about  like  one  on  stilts. 
His  long  legs  working  like  a  lever 
(In  youth  he'd  had  the  spindle  fever). 
A  man  of  cultivated  mind, 
He  lived  a  recluse  from  mankind, 
Contented  here  in  this  Utopia 
To  spend  life  with  a  Maricopa. 

Two  men  lived  here  about  the  yards 
Well  worth  in  passing  some  regards. 
One  wore  a  continental  hat, 
Somewhat  the  worse  for  wear  at  that, 
A  bullet-hole  shot  through  the  crown 
Received  in  battle  of  Yorktown; 
The  other,  a  suit  of  buckskin  clothes, 
Red  hair,  and  long,  red,  shining  nose; 
And  both  so  cross-eyed,  was  the  pother, 
They  never  once  saw  one  another. 

The  fathers  would  not  Sabbath  pass 
Without  celebrating  Pima  mass. 
The  Indians  gathered  all  around, 
With  gaping  wonder,  on  the  ground, 
And  heard  that  God  lived  in  the  sky, 
And  fed  good  Indians  pumpkin  pie; 
But  bad  ones  sent  to   another  place, 
Where  water's  said  to  be  rather  scarce; 
Exciting  thus  their  hopes  and  fears 
For  the  first  time  in  three  hundred  years. 


126  Apache-Land. 

Having  finished  this,  the  train  passed  on 

Along  the  road  towards  Tucson. 

Leaving  the  stream  at  Sacaton 

(Named  from  a  grass  of  Arizone), 

We  camped  a  night  at  old  Picach — 

A  peak  for  which  you'll  scarce  find  match; 

Next  rested  at  the  point  of  rocks 

Where  Tucson  keeps  her  herds  and  flocks; 

And  next  day,  near  the  time  of  noon, 

We  reached  the  plaza  of  old  Tucson. 

Kind  friends  soon  come  round  to  greet; 
Some  old  we  miss,  some  new  we  meet 
(For  Time  must  always  have  his  scope); 
The  world's  a  vast  kaleidoscope. 
The  flag  again  is  here  unfurled; 
They  think  this  the  center  of  the  world; 
For  London  neither  know  nor  care — 
Four  thousand  here,  four  millions  there; 
Know  nothing  of  stocks  and  "  contangos;" 
They  play  and  sing  and  hold  fandangos. 

The  Tucson  people  were  quite  elate, 

They'd  swapped  the  capital  for  a  delegate; 

All  for  this  exalted  honor  itch, 

And  would  swap  the  devil  for  a  witch; 

The  governor  has  this  condition, 

He  signs  the  delegate's  commission, 

And  for  the  1101191  and  the  pelf, 

He  always  signs  it  for  himself. 

The  Washington  folks  here  might  learn 

Advantage  of  the  count  to  turn. 


Apache-Land.  127 

I'm  not  versed  in  affairs  of  state, 

And  politics  I  really  hate; 

But  woman's  instinct  oft  discerns 

What  man's  more  matchless  reason  spurns. 

The  best  built  coach  that  rides  the  plains, 

Is  n't  safe  if  a  drunkard  holds  the  reins; 

The  strongest  ship  may  go  to  wreck 

With  a  land-lubber  on  the  quarter-deck; 

•If  neither  happen,  'tis  not  odd; 

But  due  to  providence  of  God. 

New  men  had  come  upon  the  scene 
Not  much  better  than  the  old,  I  ween. 
They  had  a  lean  and  hungry  look; 
In  ravenous  haste  their  ::v!&uals  took 
Down  slim  intestinal  ca&pM 
With  gustatory  pleasure  dismal; 
Talked  nasally  about  tnV  flag, 
And  carried  one  in  their  carpet-bag; 
Reckoned  as  how  an  acre  of  land 
Was  quite  enough  for  any  man. 

Pile  up  the  debt — who  the  d 1  cares, 

We'll  leave  this  blessing  to  our  heirs. 
"The  desert  lands"  must  be  surveyed, 

And  party-men  three  prices  paid. 

The  Indian  business  pays  us  well, 

The  Quakers  all  may  go  to  h — 1. 

The  outsiders  can't  make  a  fuss, 

The  newspapers  all  belong  to  us; 

Anything  to  save  the  nation, 
"The  old  flag  and  an  appropriation." 


128  Apache-Land. 

Our  Lord-ly  treasurer  must  have  funds, 
For  finance  low  at  the  capital  runs; 
And  what  would  Washington  lobby  be 
Without  some  money  to  spend?  He!  he! 
For  every  office  has  its  price, 
And  the  salaries  don't  half  suffice; 
So  collect  the  duties  on  import, 
We  must  keep  up  a  friend  at  court. 
The  President  has  got  the  cranks, 
And  will  no  more  submit  to  pranks. 

We  bought  this  land  from  Santa  Ana 

When  he  sold  out  under  the  hammer. 

The  old,  one-legged  Peter  Funk! 

Ten  milliojis  must  have  made  him  drunk. 

The  treaty  made  with  old  Gadsden 

Was  all  very  well,  as  things  went  then. 

For  old  titles  now  we've  no  regards — 

We've  become  a  nation  of  communards; 

We'll  confiscate  these  old  estates, 

And  then  make  tracks  for  Eastern  States. 

The  bold  frontiersman  too  was  gone 

(At  least  not  seen  about  Tucson), 

Who  erst,  with  pistol  on  his  hip, 

With  rifle  true,  and  spur  and  whip, 

Was  ready  for  an  Apache  ride, 

To  do  his  best,  whate'er  betide. 

Now,  blear-eyed  drunkards  with  their  boons 

Crowd  low-down  gambling-house  saloons, 

And  hospitality's  wide-spread  gates 

Are  closed  'gainst  strangers  from  the  States. 


Apache- Land.  129 

The  agent  left  at  Arivac, 

Soon  as  the  owner  turned  his  back, 

Commenced  to  steal  and  confiscate, 

And  wreck  and  rob  the  whole  estate; 

Employed  some  dirty  peon  hands 

To  take  it  up  as  "desert  lands;" 

And  with  the  treasury  at  his  back 

Would  be  the  Lord  of  Arivac. 

The  name  of  this  despicable  fraud 

Would  nearly  rhyme  with  DOCTOR   LORD. 

A  few  days'  rest  in  old  Tucson, 
Then  three  leagues  thence  we  journeyed  on 
To  place  in  mem'ry  always  dear; 
The  Mission  Church  of  San  Xavier, 
Where  Indians  long  their  vigils  kept 
(The  church  was  clean  and  neatly  swept). 
For  the  Jesuits  told  them  years  ago, 
Sure  as  the  water  would  continue  to  flow, 
The  sun  to  shine,  the  grass  to  grow, 
They'd  come  again  to  the  Papago. 

And  now  we've  surely  lived  to  see 

Fulfillment  of  this  prophecy; 

And  more:    The  time's  not  very  far — 

By  treaty,  purchase,  or  by  war, 

By  means  which  nothing  can  forego — 

We'll  repossess  our  Mexico. 

No  earthly  power  can  thwart  the  skill 

Of  an  army  moved  by  a  single  will. 

And  Mexico  shall  be  our  home, 

Whene'er  the  order  comes  from  Rome. 


130  Apache-Land. 

We  left  the  fathers  here  to  chaunt, 
To  teach  the  Indians  how  to  plant, 
By  honest  labor  to  serve  H.  I.  M., 
And  at  eve  to  sing  the  vesper  hymn; 
Whilst  we,  too,  render  our  account 
By  teaching  on  Saint  Joseph's  Mount. 
And  I  in  spirits  desperate 
Begin  my  own  novitiate: 
On  condition,  which  Rome's  law  allows, 
In  future  to  withdraw  my  vows. 

My  chief  was  gone,  and  none  knew  where. 

Suffice  for  me,  he  was  not  here. 

Some  said  he'd  wandered  to  Japan; 

Others,  the  city  of  the  Khan, 

Or  away  beyond  the  Chinese  wall, 

On  Scythian  plains  to  build  a  kraal, 

'Mid  Tartar  nomads  living  there 

As  their  descendants  live  out  here, 

In  ancient  home  of  the  Apache, 

Where  Russians  now  hold  Fort  Kiach'ta; 

Or,  fanned  by  India's  spicy  breeze, 

To  seek  an  island  in  the  seas. 

But  I  know  best  his  tastes  and  wants, 

The  kind  of  scene  his  vision  haunts: 

He'll  seek  the  island  of  Ceylon, 

And  spend  a  little  time  upon 

The  lore  and  creed  of  Buddhist  monks, 

Neath  banyan  trees'  time-honored  trunks; 

Then  cross  the  narrow  Indian  Sea, 

From  British  port  Trincomalee. 


Apache- Land.  131 

Then  up  fair  India's  coral  strands 

To  where  the  Ganges  spreads  her  sands; 

In  India's  marble  palaces, 

To  drink  from  Hindoo  chalices; 

To  climb  the  hundred  marble  stairs 

From  Ganges'  banks  to  old  Benares, 

Great  city  of  the  Hindoo   mind, 

Seat  of  the  learned  and  refined; 

Where  pundits  reason  of  the  soul; 

Below  the  healing  waters  roll. 

'  Cawnpore,  Lucknow,  and  high  Delhi, 
Where  now  the  British  banners  fly, 
At  topmost  top  of  Mogul  towers, 
In  proud  disdain  of  Moslem  powers; 
Where  sixteen  cities  on  the  plain 
Have  risen,  flourished,  and  fallen  again; 
Where  Kootab  tower  and  minaret 
Stands  tallest  tower  erected  yet; 
Where  wrote  England's  poet  of  beauty  and  bliss: 
If  there's  an  elysium  on  earth,  it  is  this,  it  is  this." 

The  Mogul's  city,  Agra,  seek 
And  linger  there  at  least  a  week, 
By  wonder  architectural 
Eclipsing  all;  the  Taj  Mahal. 
Tribute  of  love  by    India's    Khan, 
The  Mogul  Emperor  Shah  Jchan, 
In  honor  of  wife  best  loved  of  all — 
The  beauteous  Tartar,  Noor-Mahal. 
The  Saracen  here  sought  to  prove 
In  showers  of  gems  his  lofty  love. 


132  Apache- Land. 

It  may  be  some  bright  crystal  star 

Descended  from  the  realms  afar, 

To  give  of  home  conception  dim, 

Of  cherubim  and  seraphim; 

Or,  perhaps,  the  genii  of  the  seas 

Have  wafted  here,  mankind  to  please, 

A  palace  fashioned  in  the  deep, 

From  gems  which  ocean's  treasuries  keep, 

Festooned  with  coral,  heap  on  heap, 

In  which  the  mermaids  sing  and  sleep. 

The  marble,  too,  here  speaks  to  man, 
Inlaid  in  each  verse  of  Koran; 
In  precious  stones  each  Indian  flower 
Is  molded  in  sepulchral  bower; 
So  lifelike  they  the  tomb  illume, 
You  fancy  you  can  smell  perfume; 
And  look  above  in  dome,  on  wing 
To  hear  the  very  angels  sing — 
A  poem  here  in  marble  wove — 
Earth's  noblest  monument  of  love  ! 

The  Himalayas'  highest  peak, 
In  adventure  wild  I'm  sure  he'll  seek, 
The  natural  British-Indian  wall, 
Overlooking  Thibet  and  Nepaul; 
Where  Ganges,  fed  by  lasting  snows, 
Its  sources  finds  and  southward  flows; 
The  west  and  south  all  British  land, 
The  north  and  east  all  Turkestan, 
In  clouds  where  Asian  eagles  whirl, 
O'er  Ararat  survey  the  world. 


Apache- Land.  133 

He  often  read  to  me  Tom  Moore 
In  secluded,  happy  days  of  yore. 
Following1  this,  in  mem'ry  dear, 
He'll  visit  valley  of  Cashmere. 
Where  mountains  fifteen  thousand  feet 
Rise,  top  o'er  top,  the  skies  to  meet; 
And  I  fear  on  Jhelung's  happy  waters 
He'll  sport  with  Cashmere's  lovely  daughters. 
To  love  and  beauty  men  incline — 
I  am  the  first,  I'll  not  repine. 

The  Hindoo  Rush  he'll  push  across, 
And  rest  among  the  Persian  floss, 
Where  maidens  fairer  than  Cashmere, 
Would  make  an  anchorite  forswear. 
But  he  has  holier,  higher  aims, 
And  will  seek  the  mystic  Persian  flames 
Which  burn  there  since  the  world  begun, 
'Mid  ancient  worshipers  of  the  sun; 
From  Ispahan  to  India's  shore, 
God's  greatest  emblem  they  adore. 

Then  up  the  great  Euphrates'  banks, 
Where  Moslem  mezzuin  prays  and  chants 
Above  the  ruined  cities  old — 
Oh!  how  old  !  buried  in  the  mold 
Of  ages  ere  the  Christian  world 
From  Bethlehem  the  flag  unfurled, 
Which  Magian  priests  went  there  to  seek 
On  birth  of  Christ,  in  obedience  meek, — 
Thank  Herod,  who  then  held  sway, 
It  did  not  take  an  eastern  way.* 


*Herod  drove  the  Magian  priests^  out  of  Judea;  else  they  would  probably 
have  carried  the  Christian  religion  eastward. 


134  Apache-Land. 

The  Holy  Land  !   the  Holy  Land  ! 
Like  Arizona,  land  of  sand  ! 
Where  prophet  sage  and  paraclete 
The  face  of  eternal  God  can  greet; 
Where  atmosphere,  without  a  leaven, 
Leaves  naught  betwixt  the  earth  and  heaven. 
Where  soul  absorbs  th'  ethereal  spark, 
And  leaves  the  outer  world  in  dark. 
Her  sands  have  drunken  Christe's  blood, 
To  save  the  world  beyond  the  flood. 

On  pyramid  by  Nilus'  bank, 
Where  Egypt's  lotus  leaves  grow  dank, 
The  river  winding  through  Soudan 
Forms  nature's  desert  caravan; 
Comes  whence  Herodotus  too  soon 
Placed  source  in  Mountains  of  the  Moon; 
Whence  Livingstone  and  Stanley  meet, 
And  strangers,  yet  like  brothers  greet. 
The  one  takes  rest  up  in  the  sky, 
The  other  solves  the  mystery. 

O'er  Europe's  lands  no  more  we'll  roam, 

Globe-trotters  make  them  summer  home. 

Oh,  will  my  chief  not  ever  come  ? 

My  bankers  wrote  he'd  passed  through  Rome, 

And  called  to  get  a  small  advance 

From  money  in  the  Bank  of  France. 

I  fear  he's  caught  in  some  foulards 

Which  flaunts  upon  the  boulevards, 

Societe  damsels  dressed  so  nice 

Upon  the  wages  of  their  vice. 


Apache-Land.  135 

Some  men  from  London  after  came,' 
With  power  to  enter  in  his  name 
The  Santa  Rita  mining  claims. 
(I  purposely  omit  their  names, 
For  some  of  them  are  "  unco  quid," 
And  would  not  steal  if  understood.) 
But  agents  do  for  filthy  gains 
Re-enter  claims  in  their  own  names. 
I  must  confess,  I  have  my  fears 
Of  "  eminent  mining  engineers." 

They  brought  along  some  magazines, 
Of  introduction  forming  means, 
With  tales  of  frontier  life  and  fight 
No  other  man  on  earth  could  write. 
I  knew  the  old  sarcastic  style, 
The   lightly  veiled  sardonic  smile; 
The  scenes  descriptive  like  a  picture, 
The  ethics  of  the  "Parsee  Lecture;" 
But  still  my  heart  full  often  wonders 
Why  he  so  long  should  stay  in  Londres. 

They  said  he  loved  the  English  law, 
Which  can  keep  thieves  somewhat  in  awe. 
In  English  home  had  liked  to  nestle, 
Where  each  man's  Chouse  is  as  his  castle; 
And  thought  the  English  right  to  fight 
For  the  old  motto,  "  Dieu  et  mon  droit;" 
Is  quite  at  ease  in  English  homes, 
And  welcome  guest  at  feast  he  comes; 
But  worse  than  all,  eternal  Hades! 
I  fear  he  loves  the  English  ladies. 


136  Apache- Land. 

At  last  the  news  reached  old  Tucson 
That  he  had  come  to  Washington 
To  spend  the  winter  with  old    friends; 
To  watch  the  count  on  which  all  depends; 
To  join  the  dinner,  ball,  and  rout, 
Which  in  season  rages  thereabout. 
The  spring  brought  me  the  joyful  tidings    . 
That  he  had  finished  all  his  ridings — 
Was  home  again,  in  land  of  sands, 
As  Government  Register  of  Lands. 

The  capital  again  on  wheels 

Has  left  the  southern  broad  grain-fields, 

To  rest  in  Prescott  'mong  the  pines, 

And  live  upon  the  yield  of  mines; 

The  Governor  there  to  practice  law, 

And  bail  his  clients  with  men  of  straw, 

Unless  the  President  interdict; 

To  pardon  give  his  own  convict; 

To  colonize  the  land  with  blacks, 

Be  delegate  and  then  make  tracks. 

From  Florence  City  to  San  Xavier, 
Three  different  styles  the  buildings  wear; 
Three  different  epochs,  different  races, 
Have  left  their  marks  in  these  old  places: 
The  Mission  Church,  in  art  and  grace, 
Stands  high  above  the  rest  in  place; 
The  style  is  from  the  Saracen, 
The  dome  a  type  of  the  Unseen; 
Half  Christian  church,  half  Moslem  mosque, 
With  ornaments  in  Arabesque. 


Apache- L  and.  137 

The  Casa  Grande  stands  alone, 

One  league  from  road  from  old  Tucson, 

Sole  monument  in  desert  place 

Of  lost,  extinct,  and  perished  race 

Who  here  some  thousand  years  ago 

Had  hate  and  love  and  joy  and    woe, 

And  cultivated  lands  around, 

And  built  a  city — -now  a  mound. 

No  other  nation  'neath  the  sun 

Would  let  this   ruin,  to  ruin  run. 

They  say  a  thousand  years  ago 

The  Gila's  waters  ceased  to  flow; 

The  Great  Spirit,  wroth,  withheld  the  rain, 

And  Indians  no  more  gathered  grain. 

The  queen  had  garnered  the  little  corn, 

And  eked  it  out  as  a  child  was  born 

Till  at  last  of  humans  under  the   sun 

She  was  the  only  living  one, 

And  reposed  herself  beneath  a  tree, 

To  wake  up  in  eternity; 

That  God,  in  pity,  sent   the  rain, 

The  human  race  to  yet  maintain — 

A  drop  from  heaven  fell  on  her  navel, 

The  womb  of  nature  to  unravel, 

And  virgin  queen,  without  deception, 

Accepted  the  divine  conception. 

In  course  of  time  a  son  was  born, 

And  Indians  again  danced  'round  their  corn; 

The  queen  undying  honor  won — 

Grandmother  of  Montezuma's  son. 


138  Apache-Land. 

Fair  Florence,  wreathed  in  Gila's  green, 

A  city  yet  to  be,  I  ween. 

Green  cottonwoods  adorn  the  banks, 

Mesquite  for  food  and  fuel  ranks; 

And  nowhere  'neath  Italia' s  sun 

Can  climate  equal  such  a  one. 

The  territorial  cord  spinal 

Spreads  here  in  many  a  branch  canal, 

To  irrigate  the  fields  of  grain, 

And  make  good  crops  come  without  rain. 

The  water,  trained  in  living  rills, 
The  sidewalk's  pine-built  channel  fills, 
Vivifying  the  umbrageous  trees 
'Neath  which  they  sit,  and  take  their  ease; 
For  here,  e'en  more  than  in  Tucson, 
It  is  always,  "always  afternoon." 
The  lotus  leaf  the  soft  wind  kisses, 
And  ladies  here  would  charm  Ulysses. 
They  spend  their  time  in  dance  and  song, 
And  seem  happy  as  the  day  is  long. 

The  Gila's  silvery  waters  flow 

Through  the  town  as  classic  old  Arno 

Flows  through  fair  Italians  Firenze, 

Enough  to  give  a  poet  frenzy. 

The  glittering  floods  in  fancy  seem 

A  silver  thread  in  fringe  of  green. 

The  churches  yet  are  rather  few, 

The  ethics  of  the  country  new; 

If  not  devout,  they're  cousin-german — 

A  murderer  preached  the  funeral  sermon. 


Apache-Land.  139 

The  Final  range  ten  leagues  to  north 
Is  where  the  silver  ores  come  forth. 
Here,  well  preserved  in  womb  of  Nature, 
In  mountain  summits'  wild  serrature, 
Mysterious  Providence  has  kept 
His  richest  treasures  in  the  depth 
Of  Apache-land,  for  chosen  vessels, 
Who  in  prayer  with  great  Jehovah  wrestle; 
For  pious,  good,  God-fearing  men — 
Who  drink  a  little  now  and  then. 

In  truth,  this  mountain  range  it  seems 
With  richest  minerals  really  teems, 
And  silver  ores  of  richest  ley 
Are  hauled  away  from  day  to  day, 
To  reduction  works  in  other  lands. 
Four  dollars  a  day  are  paid  to  hands. 
This  treasury,  in  years  to  come, 
Wrll  ma^e  Florence  a  great  emporium. 
The  Italian  has  the  Apennines, 
But  they  contain  no  silver  mines. 


I  rested  here  from  my  fatigue, 
And  spent  a  day  igi&i-  his  colleague; 
A  brusquely  military  r^n, 
In  point  of  years  abouFlhe  span; 
A  wife  intent  on  household  cares, 
Somewhat  his  junior  in  years. 
Two  little  girls  born  in  Florence; 
One  Flora  n«ged,  the  other  Florence. 
I  asked  him  why  so  n-eaFthe  same? 
He  answered,  To  prevent  nickname. 


1 40  Apache-Land. 

About  a  league  northwest  of  town, 

A  round  butte  rises  from  the  ground  ; 

Alone  it  stands  upon  the  plain, 

Detached  from  ev'ry  mountain  chain  ; 

In  altitude  three  hundred  feet, 

The  morning  sun's  first  beams  to  greet. 

Its  evening's  shadows  fall  apace 

In  eastern  alcove,  which  forms  place 

For  building  a  secluded  home 

Where  one  may  wait  life's  coming  gloam. 

On  eastern  front  an  Apache  cave, 
In  solid  rock  sepulchral  nave, 
Forms  tomb  to  face  the  rising  sun, 
For  place  of  rest  when  life  is  done; 
On  top  a  temple  built  of  stone, 
For  worship  of  the  GREAT  UNKNOWN  ; 
Resembling  those  on  Persian  hills, 
Which  Zoroaster's  follower  builds; 
And  sacred  fire  burns  constantly, 
As  type  of  immortality. 

On  high  a  lofty  pine  is  raised, 
And  on  its  top  a  flag  is  placed; 
•  Not  nailed  to  mast,  as  heroes  do; 
Nor  lashed  with  ropes,  as  sailor's  clew; 
But  always  to  the  breeze  it  flings, 
Revolving  around  on  iron  rings; 
Red  sun  in  midst,  blue  border  round, 
A  stout  white  canvas  forms  the  ground. 
For  fifty  miles  around  you  view 
The  colors  true,  "red,  white,  and  blue." 


Apache- Land.  1 4 1 

We  cross  the  river  at  the  spot 

Where  long  ago  it  was  our  lot 

To  be  rescued  from  our  willow  boat 

By  Pimas  planting  thereabout. 

Now,  lo!  a  city  on  the  plains, 

Where  smiling  peace  and  plenty  reigns, 

Named  for  the  fabled  bird  that  dies 

That  another  from  its  death  may  rise;     1 

Immortal  emblem,  long,  long  float 

O'er  PHCENIX,  where  Pimas  saved  our  boat  ! 

My  story  now  draws  near  the  end. 

The  few  remaining  words  attend: 

We  offer  here  ourselves  as  guides, 

To  go  with  you,  whate'er  betides; 

We  know  the  river's  winding  way, 

The  cataract's  unceasing  play; 

The  canon's  deep  and  narrow  gorge, 

Where  whirlpools  dangerous  roar  and  surge, 

The  rocks  on  which  your  boat  may  split, 

The  river,  every  bit  of  it. 

And  more,  if  more  I  need  to  urge, 
A  woman's  heart  beats  'neath  this  serge 
(Which  courtesy  and  chivalry 
Respect,  as  heaven's  livery), 
For  one  who's  gone  aboard  the  boat, 
These  many  years  the  world  afloat; 
Whose  guide  and  comfort  I  would  be 
Over  life's  remaining  troubled  sea, 
Till  anchored  safe  at  last  with  me 
On  the  shores  of  vast  eternity. 


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